An Oriental Twist
by Kabuuanpisika
Summary: My name is John Watson, and this is the story of my best friend and flat mate, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock is an odd and rather great woman. The adventures of the "Orient" throw us for a loop. You never know what might happen, and I'd never imagine being anywhere else. Join me as we venture through London, England; fighting off the poetic foe for the sake of the case. The Game Is On!
1. Chapter 1

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

My name is John Watson, and this is the story of my best friend and flat mate, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock and I met three years ago at Denmo's Coffee Shop. I was sitting at the corner of the shop drinking black coffee. My jacket was strung over the chair in front of me to block the way from other curious characters that like to chat. As a war veteran, I don't particularly enjoy chatting. I grabbed the newspaper that was resting on the table and started reading.

Suddenly a tall cloaked bloke burst into the shop. "Demno! Damn. Missed him!" His feminine voice rang throughout the shop as the noise stopped and teacups clattered. Wait, feminine?

The figure ran to the back of the shop, where I was sitting and sat down in the coat covered chair. "Now, think. Where could a 215 pound man have run off too?" The figure now was completely in my sights. This character with the feminine voice was indeed a woman. She was around 5'10 with shoulder length dark brown hair. Her blue eyes were nearly covered by her long side swept bangs. Her hands were pressed against both sides of her head in a painful manner. She reached out and grabbed my hands in excitement, "Oh! Of course! Why wouldn't a drug lord of his stature go to his superiors? This is great, this is great!" She grabbed the cup in front of me and took a drink, "Eh, I take two sugars." She got up to stand, showing off her long trench coat with the collar turned up and the blue scarf around her neck, despite the fact that it was a warm day.  
I had to know the name of this peculiar woman. "Um. Excuse me, who are you?"

She looked at me and grinned, "Oh please. You know who I am."

I shook my head, "Nah, don't think so."

The woman's face turned to a frown and she sat back down. "What do you mean? Sherlock Holmes? The only consulting detective in the world?"

I laughed a bit at the frown she was making, "Never heard of you."

**This is just a preview of the story. Please tell me what you think and I'll upload the second part soon :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

Yes that's right, Sherlock Holmes burst into my life, and I didn't even know her.

"I can't begin to fathom this extreme calamity!" Sherlock went on a rant.

A woman from the edge of counter asked, "Sherlock, what about Denmo?"

Sherlock turned to face her and sighed, "Don't you see," she looked at the girl's nametag, "Maya, that Denmo is a drug lord. He's in trouble which means one of two things: 1- is that he will be moved and relocated by his superiors or 2- that his superiors will send lackeys to deal with me. The latter is more probable, because Mr. Denmo is a married 215 pound man. He's not used to change and not to mention that his wife won't want to move far away from the kids. 'Kids Sherlock?' Yes kid's, he's been married for a long while, and he's gained weight but not from eating; it's from stress. Kids cause stress, so therefor he has children. Also, his coffee shop has his name on it. No owner equals investigation, one he can't afford. So," she turned back to me, "you, what's your name?"

"John Watson."

"So, John, what is going to happen? Go on. Impress me,"

"Um, he will track you down, I'm guessing. He can't let you keep running around."

She winked, "Right you are John." Her phone rang as she took it out of her pocket. "So, Lestrade, what have you gathered so far?"

"Well, Sherlock I can't really see much on this Denmo guy, but he's connected."

Sherlock rolled her eyes, "Yes, I already know that; I need patterns! What does he do? How does he get in?"

"Well Sherlock it's hard to track a man's movements when he doesn't make them!"

"Bingo." Sherlock said, "Lestrade, send a police car tonight. I'll be in a body bag." Before Lestrade could respond, Sherlock ended the call.

I looked at Sherlock with my eyes wide and my mouth hanging open.

She turned back to me. "You," she closed her eyes and snapped in search of my name, "John. Come with me." She turned around walked out of the store.

I grabbed my cane and jacket. I'm not an old man as some people might think. I'm actually just a bit wounded. I got shot in the war, and now I use a bloody cane! Sorry, I get touchy from time to time.

Sherlock burst back through the door. "Are you coming?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, just hold on a tic." I replied getting up out of the chair and placing my weight on my cane.

Sherlock rolled her eyes, "Nope. This won't do." She ripped my cane out of my hands and threw it behind the counter. "That will slow us down."

"Us? What the hell?!" I need that bloody cane!"

"Sure, and when you get stuck behind me in an alley way because I am so far ahead of you then you will realize that it slows you down."

"Why in the world, Sherlock, would I be in an alley with you?"

"Because we both need a flat mate." She said as she waltzed out of the store again.

"Bloody consulting detective." I mumbled as I walked out of the shop, forgetting my cane. I walked up behind her and realized that I'm only two inches taller than this marveled basket case. I hobbled behind Sherlock most of the way. "Why the hell do I even follow your lead? And how in the hell do you even know I need a flat mate?"

Sherlock stopped and made a growling noise; she turned around, "So many questions John, so many, and all of the answers are so obvious."

"Wha-?" I shook my head in confusion. "First of all, it's Dr. John Watson but only Dr. Watson to you. Second of all- IT'S NOT BLOODY OBVIOUS!" I shouted.

"Wow, you really are bottling up all of that rage from the war." She sighed.

Suddenly my mind went blank, as did my expression. "How, how did you? How did you know that?"

"Well-Dr. Watson- your cane was a dead giveaway."

"So all people with canes have been in wars?"

She scoffed, "You have a limp, you have a cane, you only pick up things with your right hand even though you write with your left, you don't lift your left shoulder up past a 45 degree angle, and you use your cane in your right hand. So, Doctor, the only reason I know that you were in a war, was because you're young with a tan line on your wrists, they're a bit faded which means you're out of work (that's also why you need a flat mate) your hair is rather dirty blonde and cut to please a general. You talk and act as if you're going to be inspected, which is a learned trait in the army. Put that all together like the pieces of a puzzle and you get a young male who enlisted in the army at the age of 18, was used as a medical soldier- I can see that because you keep your table very clean, and you go by Doctor- also was shot in the upper left chest cavity. He was sent to London 8 years later with an honorable discharge." Sherlock stuck her hands in her pockets and faced me fully. "Now, Dr. Watson, may we proceed?"

_**Please tell me what you think and I will keep trying to post as frequently as I can :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

I stood there for a moment in awe and disbelief. "That was-"

"Asinine? Over the top? Rude-" Sherlock interrupted.

"No, I was going to say incredible." I said looking into her eyes with all of my rage from earlier disappearing.

Sherlock's eyes turned soft for a brief moment, "Uh…. Well, thank you Dr. Watson…" she stuttered.

"Sorry." I replied sheepishly.

"No no no. It's fine. Nice actually." Sherlock replied with a slight smile.

I folded my arms behind my back, "Um, do pray tell, how you knew that I needed a flat mate?" I asked biting my bottom lip in anticipation.

"Well, um, I recognized you from the flyer you put up about needing a flat mate last week. I saw you when I was chasing Denmo and thought that I might as well ask you if you still needed a flat mate."

I chuckled a bit at the response. "Sherlock Holmes. You are indeed an interesting and amusing woman."

"Thank you Dr. Watson. And the answer is yes." She said turning back around, walking away.

My facial expression changed to a now more confused one, I started walking after her. "What do you mean 'yes'?" I asked.

"Yes Dr. Watson, I will be your flat mate. When you're ready to check the place out go to 221B Baker Street. Do you understand?" She laughed, grabbing her phone out of her pocket. "I sent the address to your mobile."

We continued to walk, "How in the bloody hell did you get the number for my mobile?!" I asked checking the messages for my phone.

"I have the British Government practically in my back pocket." She laughed.

I caught up with Sherlock and walked by her side. "So you're some kind of 'knight' for the queen?"

"Hahaha, no Dr. Watson. Not the queen, a queen." She laughed.

"Which queen?" I asked.

Sherlock just smiled as she flagged down a cab. "Meet me at 221B at your earliest convenience."

She opened the door to the cab and slid inside. I looked down at her, "Ok. Um. How will I know that you'll be there?"

"I'll text you. Laterz." She said as she closed the door giving the cabbie the 'go ahead' to drive away.

I looked down at my mobile. The text message read 'Come to 221B Baker Street at your earliest convenience- SH'. "I wonder what it would have been like bringing up such a hell-raiser." I flagged down my own cabbie and went back to my one-bedroom apartment.

**_Please tell me what you think. I will keep posting :)_**


	4. Chapter 4

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

I gathered up my only necessary belongings: my laptop and of course my glock. I decided that since I was low on cab fare, that I would take the bus. My mobile played a musical binging sound, indicating a text message. "Bloody technology," I murmured as I took it out of my pocket. I had meant to change the ringtone weeks earlier. I read the text message that lit up the screen 'The game is on. I will be gone for a few hours. Settle in if you like- SH'. "Hm. Apparently Sherlock Holmes enjoys sports…" I thought. "What a weird woman."

I arrived at 221B Baker Street an hour later.

As I reached for the knocker, someone walked up behind me. "Well?" they asked.

I turned around with my glock in hand.

That someone that was behind me was Sherlock. Her eyes rolled nearly back into her head. "Dr. Watson, put the gun down will you and knock." She growled.

I stammered for a few seconds. "Um… er sorry Sherlock. Force-of-habit." I placed my gun back into my waistband. "Um, Sherlock, I thought the game was on. Why are you back?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes, "It was too easy. Someone lost their head and the brother was obviously to blame." She put both hands into her pockets and sulked slightly.

"God Lord, I hope the player is ok." I added grabbing the knocker and proceeding to knock.

Sherlock's face turned to confusion. "Players?" she asked.

I was just about to face her as the door opened. Sherlock pushed me aside to speak to the woman at the door. "Mrs. Hudson, meet Dr. John Watson. He will be living here."

The short old woman standing in the doorway wore a purple getup matching her light red-gray hair quite nicely. "Oh, Sherlock, what would your mother think?"

She smiled and bent down to kiss Mrs. Hudson's cheek. "Go call her." Mrs. Hudson stepped aside so that we could get through. Sherlock made her way up the stairs, "Come Dr. Watson."

I silently obeyed while giving a polite nod to the landlady.

Sherlock hung her coat and scarf up on the coat-rack, exposing her rather business-like attire. She wore a blazer accentuated by a pencil skirt and half an inch high heels. She picked up the mail on top of the coffee table and sifted through it. "Dr. Watson, take a picture. It lasts longer." She mused.

I chuckled a bit at the rather cliché saying coming out of the brilliant detective's mouth. "Right."

She looked up at me and pointed to the recliner directly across from her, "Have a seat Doctor."

I nodded as I walked towards the chair and sat down. I looked over at the mantle of the fireplace. "Is that a real skull?" I asked flabbergasted at the realistic skull sitting atop the mantle.

She walked over to the chair opposite mine and sat down. "Yes, it helps me think." She answered.

"You talk to it?" I asked, my eyes still glued to the skull.

"Well, yes of course." She answered. "That's not normal?"

"Uh," I chuckled, "no Sherlock it's not. You have no social graces do you?"

"Why would I Dr. Watson? It's all irrelevant." She said, crossing her legs while looking at the mail in her hands.

"Oh, um, Sherlock I was kind of brash back there. You can call me John." I said sheepishly.

She looked up momentarily, "Oh, alright, John." Sherlock turned her attention back to the mail in her hands.

"So, interesting mail?" I asked trying to clear the silence with my new, albeit strange, flat mate.

"Quite." She replied. The room was silent for a bit. I realized that I suddenly wanted to be 'chatty' with my new flat mate. I am not a chatty person, so this was odd for me. "John. You may take a look around if it will make you feel less awkward." Sherlock said as if she was reading my mind.

"Oh, I'm not uncomfortable at all." I lied.

She looked up at me, "John. Don't lie. That's not a good habit for a doctor."

I nodded as I stood up to look around the flat. I walked over to the kitchen. "Dear God! Sherlock, there's an eyeball in here!" I yelled, appalled by the unattached eye sitting on the kitchen table staring up at me.

"Don't touch that! It's for an experiment." She replied.

"Of course I won't bloody touch it! It's some poor bloke's bloody eyeball!" I yelled again, still shocked by the sight of the eyeball.

Sherlock chuckled. "The man was dead before I took the eye."

"Christ!" I yelled.

"John. Calm down, you'll give Mrs. Hudson a fright." Sherlock replied nonchalantly.

I clenched both fists at my side. "I'm living with a bloody psychopath." I whispered to myself. I decided that since the eyeball was missing its pair that I wouldn't continue to explore. Lord knows what I might find. It's better to keep this place a mystery.

_**Please tell me what you think. I promise to keep posting :)**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

The sound of footsteps rapped on the stairs, and soon Mrs. Hudson was at the door. "Sherlock, the police are here to see you."

"You said he was already dead." I said to Sherlock, hoping that she wasn't a murderer.

She smiled a bit at the comment. "Bring him in." she commanded, waving her hand as a 'go ahead' signal.

I looked at Sherlock, "Should I be concerned?" I asked.

She kept the smile plastered on her face, but it immediately disappeared when an older man walked into the room. The man looked about in his 40's with salt and pepper hair. "Sherlock, I assume you got the letter, based on your text." He said.

"Obviously." She replied.

"What letter?" I asked feeling a little out of the loop.

Sherlock turned to me, "Oh, right. John this is inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. Lestrade, this is my partner Doctor John Watson." She introduced.

Lestrade extended his hand and I shook it while nodding. Lestrade turned back to face Sherlock, "Partner? Got someone to tolerate you huh?" he laughed.

Sherlock ignored the comment, "Here, I thought you might like to read it." She handed him the letter.

Lestrade took the letter and read it aloud:

_Dear Sherlock Holmes,_

_My how time has passed_

_Since I saw you last_

_Look how much you've grown_

_To death's doors all alone_

_Now I see you have a friend_

_Not so alone at the end_

_But when the time comes_

_For the bell to ring and release the doves_

_Can you stand behind and watch the game?_

_Or will you join, never to be the same?_

"Wonder what it could mean." Lestrade finished.

Sherlock placed both hands behind her back, "No idea." She said.

Lestrade was taken aback by her statement, "Really?"

She took the letter back from Lestrade, "Well, six actually, but it's neither important nor prevalent now."

I nodded, "Right, Denmo is coming isn't he?" I asked.

Sherlock turned to me and smiled, "Not Denmo. His lackeys." She beamed.

"Um, shouldn't you be worried about that?" I asked.

"No. The game is on and I'm one step ahead." She replied.

"What does that have to do with the game?" I asked.

Sherlock looked at me incredulously, "The game?" she rolled her eyes. "Whenever you (a subject) think of a sport you refer to it as a game. One side wins the other loses. Further extend to when you think of a sport, it is something that has 'sport' in it (a quality of a child-like past-time or entertainment). The 'game' John Watson, is deduction, detecting, and deviance. The game is _my_ sport. It's for _fun_."

"You're a bloody psychopath." A figure standing in the hall commented. The figure moved into the light. Sherlock rolled her eyes as she spun around in a small, frustrated circle. A dark-haired man with a more clueless expression, though feigned a look of superiority, stood smugly, crossing his arms.

"I'm a high functioning sociopath do your research." She fumed, turning angrily towards the wall and back again, biting her bottom lip in angst. "You brought him?! You brought him with you?!" Sherlock yelled, pointing at the man.

"Now Sher, it's rude to point." The dark-haired man laughed.

Sherlock pulled a gun out of her waistband, "Do not call me Sher." She threatened.

Lestrade moved between the two, "Sherlock, put the gun down. I took him with me because we were on our way to the crime lab."

Sherlock took a deep breath while I just stood there in awe. Her face cringed for a moment before she put the gun back in her waistband.

My mouth was wide open for the duration of the scene, I finally asked my question "Who is he?"

Sherlock stayed facing the man, "A nuisance."

Lestrade shook his head, "This is Anderson. Anderson, meet Doctor John Watson, Sherlock's partner."

"Partner? Found someone to put up with you eh?" Anderson sneered.

"Anderson, stop inflicting your opinions on the world." Sherlock snapped. "Anderson, get out of my flat. Lestrade, don't forget about the backup. MRS. HUDSON! ESCORT THEM OUT!" she yelled as she made her way to the window, where a music stand was resting. She picked up a violin that I hadn't noticed before and started striking the cords to create a rather unpleasant sound, as the two men left.

"Sherlock?" I said tentatively.

"John?" Sherlock replied.

"I have so many questions." I stated.

"Well yes, I thought you might." She replied, repositioning the violin.

I walked back over to my chair and sat down as Sherlock played a familiar sonata. I couldn't believe how fast my world had changed. It seemed like it only took a few hours to turn my life into a three-ringed circus, but it is kind of _fun._

_**Thank you for reading and please tell me what you think :) I will continue to post**  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

Sherlock's head hit the floor with a bang.

"Denmo, whatever you're trying to do, you need to stop." I yelled being held captive by a lackey at gunpoint.

"John." Sherlock yelled getting back up off of the floor, ramming Denmo into the far wall. "It would be rather nice if you could waste your breath being of some assistance rather than wasting it."

"Denmo," I continued, "think of the kids. Think of your wife. We can help you what you're doing isn't worth it." I tried to reason.

Denmo swung at Sherlock. She ducked and ran towards the mantel. Sherlock picked up her skull off of the fireplace mantel and threw it aside. She picked up the small knife that lay underneath it. Sherlock held the knife out towards Denmo. "You're move." She said wheezing slightly.

Denmo stopped. The heavy-set man was balding, and looked slightly Italian. Or maybe he was just really tan. "I am looking out for my family." He heaved. "If I don't, my family will die."

Sherlock growled, "Dull." She hummed.

Denmo and I shot her a dirty look. "Listen, Denmo. We can help. I promise we'll figure it out. We can." I pleaded.

Denmo called off his lackey with a wave of the hand. "Fine. I'll give you two minutes."

"Thank you. We will try." I said looking at Sherlock, still holding the knife. "Down Sherlock."

I pressured, pointing at the knife.

Sherlock, still eyeing Denmo, set down her knife. She cleared her throat, "Take a seat." She smoothed out her blazer as Denmo walked over to my chair and sat down. "John."

I walked over to Sherlock, "Yes Sherlock?"

"Thank you. I um-"

I interrupted her, "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

She nodded before turning her attention back to Denmo. "Denmo, who ordered you here?"

Denmo looked at her with a slight confusion. "Who? Don't you mean what?" he asked.

Sherlock cocked her eyebrow, "Mr. Denmo, who sent you here?"

Denmo was silent. I spoke up, "Mr. Denmo, why are you here?"

He looked over to me, "To silence Sherlock Holmes in order to get my family back."

Sherlock paced back and forth, "How long do you have?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Sherlock stopped right in front of him, "How much longer? You can't possibly think that even if you did silence me that you would be returned to your family. That's not how drug lords operate. Once they have them, they don't let them go. Denmo, how much are they giving you for this?"

"How-how did you know?" Denmo asked wide-eyed.

"Answer the question." She pursued.

"4-8 months. I have a year at most. They're giving my family financial security." He responded, losing all authority in his voice.

"Denmo, you need to tell me who sent you here. You need to tell me where the base is. I need to know so that I can help." She replied.

Tears started streaming down his face. I walked beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Tell us. It's going to be alright." I reassured.

A phone started to ring. Denmo took a breath and grabbed his mobile from his pocket. "Hello?" he answered. "Yes. She's right here. How can- how did you? Yes. Yes alright." He looked up at Sherlock. "This is a message for you. _Dearest Sherlock, did you get my letter?_"

Sherlock interrupted her, "Who is it? Tell me who you are talking to." She commanded.

Denmo continued, "_If you didn't like it, let me write one better. Silently I stare at you. You don't know I'm around. I know where you've been. I know where you are bound. I know where you live. I know where you sleep. You don't even know me, but my love for you runs deep. I see you in my dreams. I want me in yours too. I want you to know and love me, but there is no way to tell you. This is how it's going to be. It will, and has never changed. I'll continue to be your stalker. Don't think I am deranged. I love you but you'll never know, because I'm your silent stalker. I'll continue watching you; well, until I kill and find another._"

"Who is it? Tell me! Dammit! Tell me!" Sherlock yelled.

The room went silent as the shot rang through the air. Denmo's eyes got wide as a single tear slid down his face. His mobile dropped to the floor while he lay limp in the now blood-stained sofa. At the other end of the room, the lackey fell with a blood streak gleaming against the wall.

Sherlock turned a head to the window to spot the shooter. She walked back grabbed her scarf and coat, picked up the phone, and handed it to me. "John, call Lestrade. Get an ambulance over here. I'm going after the shooter." She said putting on the scarf and coat.

"Sherlock, wait!" I yelled. "Is that safe?" I asked.

"Not at all, John. Not at all, but someone killed my criminal. I want to know why." She walked toward the window and jumped out.

I furiously typed in 999, while I moved in to check the man's pulse. "Dispatch? Hello, this John Watson. There has been a shooting at 221B Baker Street. We need an ambulance. Two dead. Suspected criminal on the run, and Sherlock Holmes is chasing them."

**_Please leave a comment :) I will keep posting_**


	7. Chapter 7

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

Lestrade supervised as Anderson put the two bodies in body bags. "It's funny." Lestrade said. "Sherlock said she would be in a body bag." He laughed half-heartedly.

"I just moved into the flat and two people have already died." I said sitting in Sherlock's chair, facing the blood-stained sofa that, only hours ago, was labeled as _my chair_. I took out my mobile to check my texts. '_No New Messages_'

"Dr. Watson, we're going to need you to go to the station for questioning alright?" Lestrade asked. "Do you need a lift?"

I shook my head. If I were going to the station, it would be by cab. It's more relaxed and there is nobody pointing a gun at you. I stood up, grabbed my jacket, and went downstairs. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be back soon. Call me if Sherlock shows up." I said walking out the door.

I flagged down a cab and hopped in. "Scotland Yard." I commanded.

"No problem John." A woman answered.

"Wait. How the hell do you know my name?!" I yelled leaning forward to better see the cabbie.

She turned back to face me, "Honestly John, you should start recognizing your new flat mate when you see them." Sherlock mocked.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" I furiously placed my hands on either side of my head as she laughed. "People are dead Sherlock! In our flat, and you're laughing?!"

Sherlock's face turned solemn. "I've disappointed you?"

"Yes, yep. Great deduction!" I rubbed my eyes. "Sherlock do you even care? At all?" I asked.

"Yes, now Mrs. Hudson will have to clean the apartment."

"Is that supposed to be a joke? Sherlock-"

Sherlock interrupted me, "Would caring help catch their murderer?"

"No." I spat.

"Exactly. Now, John, Scotland Yard can wait. I have a lead." She continued, driving forward.

"Where exactly are we going?" I asked.

"John, you will be a better man to not ask questions." She replied.

"Did you find the murderer?" I asked.

Sherlock was silent.

"Do you at least have a trail?"

Sherlock didn't respond for the rest of the drive, but as I looked at the front seat, I saw a sniper rifle with a note attached. I reached forward and grabbed the note. Sherlock watched but did not stop me. The note read:

_Dearest Sherlock, You'd think I'd let you win?_

_Clearly not, so add this to your pin_

_Your life is futile _

_Can't you see?_

_So join a cult _

_And follow me_

_Sell your soul _

_Jump right in_

_Close your eyes_

_Embrace your sin_

_Feel it squeezing_

_Your body tight_

_Let it take over_

_You know you can't fight_

_Into your heart _

_Burning it cold_

_Now be a good zombie_

_And do what you're told_

"Sherlock, is this from the same person?" I asked.

Sherlock remained quiet as we stopped.

"Sherlock are you going to keep ignoring me?" I pressured. "Because I know you like to hear yourself talk and you have plenty to say."

Sherlock got out of the car, "Stay here Dr. Watson." She said walking away with both hands in her pockets.

'Dr. Watson?' I thought. 'She only said Dr. Watson when I was yelling at her…'

Sherlock returned shortly and hopped back into the cab. "Sherlock," I spoke up, "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I know that you have a reason for not caring about those people. That died. In our flat. Earlier today."

"It's fine John." She said with a coy smile. "And to answer your questions no, no, yes, and no."

"Oh…kay…" I cleared my throat. "So, what was that?"

"That was the expression of gratitude followed by-"

"No Sherlock, I meant what you came here to do. What was that?" I interrupted.

"Oh, well, that was my homeless network." She smiled.

"Homeless network?" I asked.

"Really John it's a rather simple concept to understand. It's a network of the homeless. I pay homeless people for information, hideouts specifically, but other sorts of information prove themselves to be useful."

"I thought kitchen workers knew all the secrets." I said looking confused.

"No. If you want to know gossip, go to kitchen workers. If you want to know faces and places, go to the homeless. The average dollar bill jogs everyone's memory." She said starting the cab back up.

"Sherlock, if you can drive, why don't you own an automobile?" I asked as we started driving off.

"Because John, I only just learned it this morning, and it wasn't important prior to this moment." She replied nonchalantly.

"You mean you don't have a license?!" I shouted.

"Yes."

"Oh my God." I said in an exasperated sigh. "We're going to die."

_**Please review and I will keep posting as much as I can :)**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

We made it to Scotland Yard without dying, luckily. I sat down in the chair in front of Detective Lestrade's desk, while Sherlock stood both arms behind her back. I sat up straight in the chair as I wrapped my arms over each other. It was extremely cold in this establishment, and I had forgotten to bring my coat. I shivered and Sherlock turned to me with a confused look. "I'm just cold. Don't worry about it." I said waving her off.

"Oh, don't mistake confusion for concern. I was merely focusing on the only interesting thing in the room, and that's a much dramatized statement." I shot her an offended look. "Oh don't take it personally almost everyone's boring." I kept my face as it was. "Oh, right. Social graces. Do you need a coat?" She asked.

I smiled, "Yes Sherlock that would be nice."

She turned around as an employee walked by. She whistled, "You," the kid opened his mouth to speak, "no don't speak. I don't care and it's irrelevant anyways. This man is cold and needs a coat."

The kid stammered a bit and I was appalled, "Sherlock!" she turned to face me as the kid ran off.

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, fine." She took off her scarf and handed it to me. "Take this; the coat won't fit you anyways."

I accepted, albeit slightly afraid that she had drugged it, due to the kindness she was showing. "Um, thank you Sherlock."

"Better?" She pouted as she crossed her arms.

I laughed, "Yes Sherlock. Much better."

She walked over to the chair on my right and sat down, taking off her jacket and slinging it over the side. She reached forward and grabbed a file off of Lestrade's desk and began to read.

"Sherlock put that away." I whispered looking over her shoulder to peak at the file.

"Please John, if you're quiet and go get me a magazine as cover, we can read it together." She waved me off.

I rolled my eyes as I stood up. "Bloody sociopath." I muttered as I walked over to the bench with the magazine. I bent over and retrieved it for Sherlock. "Here." I said outstretching my arm to give the magazine to her.

"Yes, good." She placed the file on the inside of the magazine, and handed it to me. "If you hold on to this it will be more believable."

"Sherlock, I-"

Lestrade walked in and sat behind his desk. "Sherlock you can't bully my workers. Some kid came up to me having a break down, because he couldn't find a coat."

"Fire him." She responded.

"Sherlock!" I yelled in outrage.

"Oh come on John. The kid is clearly incompetent. He scrambles when he is told an order, and then gives up. That's not a valuable employee Lestrade." Sherlock explained.

"Moving on." Lestrade said. "We have decided to suspend you from questioning; I assume by the fact that Denmo was in a drug trafficking system that he was killed by his superiors. Case closed. Now, we have a more pressing matter." A young woman walked towards his desk, carrying a coffee. "Thank you Maya."

She nodded, "You're welcome sir."

"Now, we have had a slight problem with the nearby jail." Lestrade opened a folder on the edge of his desk, furthest from us. "Two inmates broke out, including a Richard Brook and an Erin Naomi Dahl."

I interrupted, "So you need us to find them?" I asked.

"No. Finding people is the police's division. I'm only consulted when they're stumped with murder cases. I don't find people. It's too easy." Sherlock added.

"Exactly. These two inmates were found dead this morning. The bodies are down in the morgue. I want you to take a look and see if you can find out why."

"Is it a questionable death?" Sherlock asked.

"It's rather unusual." Lestrade said. "Follow me."

We stood up and walked to the morgue, where a woman stood, checking the bodies. She had long auburn hair and was rather cheery. Sherlock walked towards her and the woman fidgeted. She was obviously nervous, but for what reason? Sherlock isn't as scary as she looks. I followed Lestrade's lead up to the bodies.

The woman turned around to see Lestrade and myself. "John, this is Molly Hooper. Molly Hooper, this is my flat mate John Watson." Sherlock introduced.

Molly's eyes turned a little watery, but she smiled and waved. "My dad's best friend's name was John. He died a while-oh, sorry."

"Molly, don't try to chat." Sherlock stated.

"Right." She said lowering her head for a second. "Um, here are the bodies. They're a bit gruesome." She said, rolling down the sheets.

I looked down and was mortified. They weren't even bodies. There was solidified ash shaped into what appeared to be letters. "Jesus." I whispered.

Sherlock cocked her head, "A message."

"Yes that's what we thought as well." Molly replied.

"That's why I was so interested in your little love letters. I'm starting to see a pattern." Lestrade chimed in.

"It's a poem?" I asked.

Sherlock nodded. She began to read it aloud:

_Anger, pain, the world has to pay_

_Adults console but I care not what they say_

_Respect is over-rated, fear's what I seek_

_The cries of the masses, the cowards, the meek_

_God, the Devil, don't look to such myths_

_When I come knocking no debt goes amiss_

_Your crime is living, your punishment death_

_Murder and mayhem, the tools of my wrath_

"_Please!", "I'm sorry!" the damned cry out_

_You sicken me you animals; I care not what you shout_

_I'm the hater of man, the bringer of death_

_Hell itself trembles, 50 levels of wrath_

"Is it the same poet?" I asked.

"Oh yes, but this poem isn't for me." Sherlock stated. "It's much too disdainful. The poems left for me are more loving and tender. This is cruel and angry."

_**Please leave a review for me. I want to know your theories if you have any :) I am going to stop posting for the next week since it's my SPRING BREAK! I will post two chapters when I get back. **_


	9. Chapter 9

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

Sherlock walked around examining the 'bodies'. "Solidified ash. From the bodies? Maybe." She touched a letter. "Some sort of adhesive. Not a regular adhesive, those are not strong enough to bind ash together. Some sort of plaster. Self-adhesive. Thin. Liquid, fast drying. No white residue." She smelled the letter. "Low odor detection. Probably an epoxy. This is meant for boats. Boats… Oh! Oh, marine products! System Three Silvertip Marine Epoxy. The ash is so small. So minute. It wasn't an explosion. There would be more flesh if it were. I know ash. More of a fire, but not a small fire. Small fires leave some evidence. This is a chemical fire." She picked up a small piece of stray ash. "Smells like… garlic. Why garlic? Not exactly like garlic, so it's a chemical. A burning chemical that reduces everything to ash and smells of garlic…" She pressed both of her hands to the sides of her head in the same painful manner I had witnessed before. Her eyes shot open. "Oh."

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's a chemical. It smells of garlic and reduces everything to ash, which means it's strong. The strongest flammable chemical with a garlic smell is?" she asked.

We all stood with blank expressions.

Sherlock groaned. "My, look at your faces. All of them so vacant. Must be so relaxing not being me. Acetylene."

"What?" I asked.

"The chemical is Acetylene." Sherlock answered.

"Wow. That's amazing how did you do that?" I asked in awe.

Sherlock smiled coyly. "It's all in my mind John. It's a common chemical, mostly used in welding. It burns at a high temperature, which is why the bodies are completely ash. The ash is solidified with an adhesive. Not a cheap adhesive; those leave residue. So, we know that it has a very low odor. It's clear and has a slight shine to it. Those kinds of adhesives must be thin and fast-drying. So, it's more of an epoxy. A thin, fast-drying epoxy that leaves no residue and has no odor can only be used for a few things. A boat is the most likely. The only commonly accessible brand I know is System Three Silvertip Marine Epoxy." She turned to Lestrade. "The good news is that you have evidence. The bad news is that both things are commonly and easily accessible. You will have a hard time tracking them down. It's not impossible, but it's difficult. For you anyways."

"You aren't going to help us?" Lestrade asked.

"No. I have a shooter to track." She replied.

"But this is connected." Lestrade swayed. "Surely that's an incentive."

"This wasn't connected to me. Two poems in the same, but none of you even recognized the pattern." Sherlock said.

"What pattern?" I asked.

"The poem," Molly added, "isn't original."

Sherlock turned to her, "Good. The poem is called 50 levels of wrath by Imran Shahid. The first poem I was sent was indeed original; however the rest were not. The second was called An Obsession and the third Follow Me. Both by an anonymous author on the internet. I do a lot of research. So, no, I will not track down your killer based on this case. I will continue to track down the killer of my client. This new evidence is neither helpful nor interesting." She turned her back and started walking. "John. Follow."

I nodded and began to walk. "Right."

We reached the outside of the building and Sherlock stopped. She leaned on the edge of the building, and took out a cigarette.

"You smoke?" I asked.

Sherlock took out a lighter from her pocket and lit the cigarette. "I'm quitting." She said as she rolled up her sleeve to reveal three nicotine patches.

We both looked at each other a started laughing. "Quitting my arse." I said.

"Open the folder, I want to read it." Sherlock commanded.

I opened the folder and a small piece of paper fell out. Sherlock grabbed the folder as I bent down to grab the paper. "Um, Sherlock."

"Not now." She said, her face buried in the folder.

"Sherlock there's a note." I added.

She looked up and grabbed the note from my hands.

"It's another poem." I said.

Sherlock began to read it:

_Dearest Sherlock, you saw my case_

_A current crime lord is my face_

_If you need another fix_

_I have one more classic trick_

_One bright day in the middle of the night,_

_Two dead boys got up to fight._

_Back-to-back they faced one another,_

_Drew their swords and shot each other._

_One was blind and the other couldn't see,_

_So they chose a dummy for a referee._

_A blind man went to see fair play,_

_A mute man went to shout "hooray!"_

_A deaf policeman heard the noise,_

_And came and shot the two dead boys._

_A paralyzed donkey walking by,_

_Kicked the copper in the eye,_

_Sent him through a nine inch wall,_

_Into a dry ditch and drowned them all._

_If you don't believe this lie is true,_

_Ask the blind man,_

_He saw it too._

"It's complete and utter nonsense." I said.

"Yes, this poem is also unoriginal." Sherlock added. "After I was sent the first poem I did some research and started looking up poems. This one is called The Nonsense Poem. Someone is playing mother goose. The story teller, someone who tells stories in the dark, to shed some light in the minds of children." She paused. "John. Go on back to the flat. I have somewhere I need to be."

"You don't want me to come with you?" I asked.

"No. I will be fine. You don't have to worry." She replied.

"Don't mistake worry for confirmation." John laughed. "Look, I sound just like you." I took off Sherlock's scarf. "Here, you can have your scarf back."

Sherlock reached out and grabbed her scarf. "Thank you John." She said with a smile. "I'll see you soon." She commented running off down the block.

I started to walk down the street and all I could think about was Sherlock. It's only been one day. The night is very near and I have been involved in two crime solving experiences. What would possess an ordinary bloke like myself to hook up with a sociopath like her? Oh no wait. Not like that. I don't date sociopaths. At least I hope I don't. What? Wait, why am I arguing with myself in my head? I started to hear a ringing noise as I walked the streets. Oh, great now I'm going insane. I looked around and noticed it was just the payphone. Why would the payphone be ringing? I walked past it and the ringing stopped. That's peculiar. I continued to walk as another phone rang. This time it was in the shop to my left. An employee walked over to answer the phone, but the ringing stopped before he could answer it. I continued to walk. The next payphone I passed started ringing. I turned around and walked inside the phone booth. I picked up the phone and answered it. "Hello?"

"Dr. Watson, look to the building on your left. Do you see the security camera?" The voice on the phone asked.

"Who is this?" I asked.

"Do you see it?" The voice asked again.

"Yes." I saw the camera turn away from my direction.

"Look to the one on your right." The voice commanded.

I saw the camera turn away just as the first one did. "Okay, you've made your point."

"Get in to the car Dr. Watson." The voice commanded as a limo pulled up in front of me.

I hung up the phone. "This is going to be a long night." I muttered to myself.

_**OOH! What happens next? Please leave a review, I wanna see what you guys think. Are you excited? I AM! Anyways I will post two chapters today so the next one is coming really soon :)**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

I got into the limo, and was met face-to-face with two guards and a woman texting furiously. I turned to the woman, "Hello. Can you tell me where we're going?" I asked.

The woman smiled, "No."

"Ok. Can you tell me your name?" I asked.

"Um, Felicia." She replied, still nose deep in her mobile.

"That's not your real name is it?" I asked, clearly not going to be fooled.

"No." She smiled again.

"Right, good. Good." I looked straight ahead at the two guards, "Hello fellas." I waved, but their expressions remained stoic.

Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant! Sherlock runs off to frolic in the meadows and I get kidnapped. I checked my watch, it was about 11 p.m. One day. It only took one day to get kidnapped. Sherlock owes me for this. The drive took about 15 minutes until we reached our destination. I was on high alert and with my gun in my waistband; murderers and kidnappers should be no problem.

The door opened and I was escorted out. We appeared to be in a factory, but by the looks of it, it was abandoned. We walked into a dark room with a small amount of light in the middle of the complex. There was a chair in placed solemnly in the light. "Take a seat, Dr. Watson." A familiar voice suggested.

Well, I was having none of that, "No thank you. I can stand."

The figure stepped into the light. He was a well-dressed man, with balding light red hair. An umbrella hung from his right arm as he approached. He stopped and used the umbrella as a cane, using it to support a fraction of his weight. "I insist." He urged.

"Nope. I'm fine." I said. I'm not going to take any bullshit from a stranger.

He smirked, "If you so wish Dr. Watson. Tell me, how long are you planning on staying with Sherlock Holmes?"

"That's not really any of your concern is it? Why do you care? Who are you?" I asked. This prick kidnapped me; I want answers.

"An interested party" He answered. "I'm the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And that is?" I asked.

"In her mind, an enemy." He replied.

"Really? An enemy?" I asked slightly amused by the outlandish answer.

"Of course. If you were to ask her she would be likely to say that I'm her archenemy." He laughed.

"People don't have archenemies in real life." I replied. "That's not a thing."

He chuckled, "Yes, she does like to dramatize situations doesn't she?"

"Well, thank God you're above all that." I mused. "What did you bring me here for?" I asked getting a little more impatient.

"I would like you to feed me information, discreetly." He said.

"No." I replied.

"I can pay you. Make the burden a little easier to bear. You seem very loyal very quickly." He pressured.

"No. I'm just not interested, which begs the question. Why are you?" I asked, curious as to why he was so interested in my batty flat mate.

"I worry about her constantly." He sighed.

"Huh. Yeah of course you are." I scoffed. "Listen, it's a great offer, but I refuse."

"So much loyalty for someone you only met hours ago. Tread carefully Dr. Watson. Sherlock Holmes does not care for matters of the heart." He said turning around and walking away, spinning his umbrella in his hand. "Take Dr. Watson wherever he wishes to go."

"What?" I asked aloud to myself. "Why is everyone I meet completely batty?"

The woman that called herself 'Felicia' walked up beside me. "Where do you want to go?" She asked, not leaving her mobile's gaze.

My mobile made the same blinging sound as earlier. I took it out of my pocket to read the text. 'Come to 221B at your earliest convenience- SH' another bling sounded. 'If inconvenient come anyways- SH' I looked over to Felicia and answered her question, "221B Baker Street."

"Ok." She said walking back towards the limo.

"Any chance you won't tell him where I've gone?" I asked following her lead.

She stopped walking and looked up at me with an ironic facial expression.

"You've already told him haven't you?" I asked.

"Yep." She said continuing to walk.

"Ok." I followed and got inside the limo. Shortly we had arrived at 221B. I opened the door and got out. "So, um, can I call you or?" I asked the woman in the car.

"Bye." She said, closing the door, as the limo drove away.

"Right, that's a good proper response." I cleared my throat and walked inside my flat. The time was around midnight or later. I didn't particularly want to look at my watch to figure out just how much sleep I would be losing tonight. I walked into our 'living room' of sorts and saw Sherlock lying down on the coach nearest to the door.

"I said hand me that folder." She said, her eyes closed and her hands flatly pressed together, resting on the lower half of her chin.

I shook it off considering the mental state of this peculiar woman. I grabbed the folder and handed it to her. "I was kidnapped." I said.

She opened her eyes and took the file. "That's nice." She mumbled opening the file to read it.

"Yeah, it felt bloody nice to be noticed for once." I mused to see if Sherlock would engage in the conversation of my recent kidnapping.

"Who kidnapped you?" Sherlock asked, clearly not alarmed by the news I had just stated. Apparently this happens often.

"He said he was an enemy of yours." I replied.

"Oh, really? Which one?" She asked becoming slightly more amused.

"He says he's your archenemy." I replied.

"Did he ask you to spy on me?" She inquired.

"Yes." I nodded.

"Did he offer you money?" she added.

"Yep. A lot." I replied with two more nods.

"Did you take it?" she asked looking up at me.

"No." I replied appalled that Sherlock would think me to be a rat.

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." She said getting back to reading her folder.

"So why did you need me here?" I asked changing the abnormal subject of kidnapping.

"I needed that folder." She replied.

"You texted me to go all the way from across town to the flat to give you a folder!?" I yelled, moving to where I was in Sherlock's line of sight.

"Yes, I wasn't going to interrupt my thought process. I had to stay focused, and glad I did too." She said, standing up and walking over to her chair.

I noticed that my chair was gone, "Where is my chair?" I asked.

"I gave it to Lestrade. It was all covered in blood." She sighed.

"Alright. So, what were you thinking of?" I asked, pulling a chair from the kitchen to sit on.

"Poems. The murder victims. Denmo. Everything is connected, but how? Well, I started doing some research. I checked on my homeless network and found something interesting." She said, leaving me in suspense like an audience reading a story as the chapter ends on a cliff hanger.

_**Remember that I uploaded two chapters so if you didn't read Chapter 9, go do it now! Like how I left that off?! I thought it was clever. Anyways, please leave a review telling me what you think. Also if you want to write rhyming poems that are creepy or just plain out horrid, you can send them to me and I'll mention you're name in my next chapter or if you really want I can create a character especially for you! (Perhaps they will be a villain) I'll keep posting as much as I can :) Thanks for all the Favorites and Follows!**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

"What is it?" I asked Sherlock.

"Our little poetic perp is involved in a very dangerous group of criminals. They have a leader. I don't have his name or location, but with a little time I am confident that I will." She finished.

"Should we ask?" I asked. "You know, ask around the jails and things. Get some answers."

Sherlock's eyes went wide, as she jumped off of her chair and walked over to the table beside us. She grabbed a paper and pen, and sat back down. "Brilliant John!" She exclaimed.

I smiled. "Yeah, what?" I asked.

"We'll ask the poet." She stated.

My face immediately lost the smile, "What? How?" I asked.

"The murderer likes poems. It's time we write him one." She smiled.

"Are we so sure it's a bloke?" I asked. "Could be a woman."

"A man is more probable, but a woman isn't impossible. It would be easier to tell if the notes were handwritten instead of typed." Sherlock answered beginning to write.

"Oh, right. So, what are you going to say?" I asked.

Sherlock sat up straight and began to speak aloud:

_Nameless stalker,_

_Hiding deep_

_Why is it me that you seek?_

_Nameless stalker,_

_Running wild_

_What is your name you broken child?_

_Nameless stalker,_

_Lying by the moon_

_Tell me your name and I'll see you soon._

"Wow, Sherlock that could be considered beautiful if not for the subtext." I awed.

"Yes well, now to mail it." She beamed, standing up, putting on her coat and scarf.

I stood up, grabbed my coat and followed her out the door and down the stairs. "Where do we mail it to?" I asked.

Sherlock opened the front door, "Well, the murderer is obviously watching us, so anywhere we put it the poet would find it. Personally I'm quite partial to the rooftop on the building across from ours, where I found the sniper rifle." She walked out and I followed her lead.

I seem to be doing that a lot lately. We reached the building, and Sherlock knocked. A man came to the door, "You Sherlock Holmes?" he asked.

"What is wrong with the world?! Yes I am." She growled, probably still upset about her 'pending' popularity.

"She said you would be stopping by." The man grunted.

Now, I'm sure this goes without saying, but I was thoroughly confused. "Who is she?" I asked.

The disheveled man at the door laughed. "You mean what is she?"

Sherlock looked back at me with a look of remembrance. She raised an eyebrow. Obviously this look is the 'we both know what is really going on' look; the only problem is that I am still quite clueless. "Anyways," Sherlock said. "May we use your roof?" She asked.

The man stepped aside and let us in. "Sherlock, that's exactly what Denmo had said." I whispered.

"John, don't speak in a house where we are not invited, but welcomed unconditionally. Be wary of the words that wade." Sherlock hushed me, using cryptic words. I completely understood what Sherlock's warning was. 'Anyone could be listening'.

We made our way up to the rooftop. Sherlock pulled a rock out from her pocket. She set down the poem and laid the rock on top of it.

"Sherlock…" I said looking over at our flat.

"John, what did I say?" She growled.

"No, Sherlock look." I pointed to the window of our flat; Sherlock looked over. There was a darkened figure roaming through our flat.

"John, your shoulder is shaping up just fine I presume?" She asked.

"Why?" I asked, as she walked to the far edge of the building.

"Follow me, oh and don't forget to roll. I made that mistake last time." Sherlock said. She began to run, picking up speed intentionally. She put her arms out in front of her and ran off of the building. The second she hit the ground, she rolled forward on her arms that she had placed in front of her.

"Dammit…" I whispered as I backed up. I repeated the actions that Sherlock had just exampled. I pushed off of the edge of the building and flew to the ground. My feet hit; I thrust my body forward, rolling from my arms, causing the extra momentum to be transferred through the roll itself. An excruciating pain radiated to my shoulder, but the adrenaline pushed me to carry on. I stood up and ran towards the open door of the apartment. I ran up the stairs as quickly as I could, fearing that Sherlock might be in trouble. I entered through the door.

"Brother mine, this is breaking and entering, am I wrong?" Sherlock whispered into the man's ear. Sherlock was behind the perpetrator, thrusting his arm upward behind his back, pinning him against the wall.

"Sherlock, who is it?" I asked as I moved to get a better look at the man. I saw his face. That man that had kidnapped me! Dammit, he knows no bounds! "Sherlock, that's him, that's the man who kidnapped me!" I yelled.

"Oh dear brother, kidnapping and trespassing? What will the queen think of you now?" She hissed.

"Probably the same she thinks of you." The man grunted.

Sherlock let him go with a push. "What brings you here Mycroft?" She spat his name out like it was poison.

I stood idly by in the doorway waiting for some sort of explanation. I crossed my arms and cocked my head, preparing to listen in to the conversation.

"Well," The evil kidnapper named Mycroft sat down on Sherlock's chair. Probably a bad move on his part, "Sister mine, I am in need of some assistance. I was going to wait here until you had returned to speak of it calmly, but I see now that that option is out of the question."

"Wait, sister? Sherlock is your sister?" I asked walking forward, and towards Sherlock. I turned to her, "My kidnapper is your brother?"

"Older brother." Mycroft corrected.

"An appalling one at that." Sherlock added.

"Oh my God, there are two of you." I smiled, suppressing my laugh; apparently I was the only one who thought this was amusing.

"Dr. Watson please contain your excitement, he's not at all like me." Sherlock sneered, her gaze never leaving Mycroft.

"Oh my, trouble in paradise? You really shouldn't speak to your John like that." Mycroft smiled.

"Only my loved ones call me John. You're my kidnapper, so technically you don't fall into that category." I cut in. I don't particularly like when people call me John. That name is reserved for the people close to me, or my mother.

Sherlock looked over to me with confused eyes, and then back to Mycroft. "Mycroft, I'm not interested in helping you." She said, reverting the conversation back to the reason for Mycroft's breaking and entering.

"Oh and not to mention it's only" I looked at my watch, "12:28." Oh am I going to lose sleep tonight.

"Sherlock, it is very important that you help me. If it's any consolation, it's for a person of high power and not myself." Mycroft sighed, standing up to be face-to-face with Sherlock, who was very pissed off. Not only had she just jumped off a roof; she had also assaulted her brother. Now whether or not the assault was on purpose is a different story.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, "Oh gossip, care to tell me whom?" She asked.

Mycroft scoffed, "Sherlock, this person was to remain anonymous."

"Oh Mycroft, you know as well as I do that nothing stays a secret." She sighed. "Why don't you solve the case?" She asked.

"Yeah, aren't you involved in the British Government? I heard something about The Queen so I just assumed." I but in, trying to cut the tension of this odd sibling rivalry.

"He practically is the British Government." Sherlock corrected.

"I offered you Knight-Hood but you didn't take it." Mycroft sighed.

"Yes well, far too many Queens for me." She smiled.

Mycroft shook his head, "Fine, Sherlock, have a goodnights rest and I will see you soon." Sherlock stood aside while Mycroft left the flat.

She was practically beaming.

"Ok, what now?" I asked her.

"Mycroft desperately needs my help, and I want him to grovel for it." She grinned.

"People don't have archenemies." I said, focusing on Sherlock's relationship with her brother.

"What?" She asked her facial expression of giddy fell.

"In real life. People don't have archenemies." I reiterated.

"Hm, sounds a bit dull. So what do people have in their real lives?" She asked.

"Friends, people they like, people they don't like, boyfriends, girlfriends…" I trailed off.

"Like I said, dull." She shrugged.

"Oh bloody hell. I'm turning in Sherlock." I said walking to my bedroom. It was a long day, and I was looking forward to some peace. I wonder what else will be coming my way. Oh well, I better just focus on falling asleep.

_**I saw that some of you skipped chapter 9, please don't forget about it! Thanks for reading everybody. I will continue posting. Still have quite a few chapters to go so hang in there. Please tell me what you think and if I'm getting a little OOC with any of the characters :) **_


	12. Chapter 12

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

In only a few minutes, I was asleep. In my mind, pictures began to play. It seems as if I am dreaming. Huh, haven't been able to do that in a while. The scenes that formed were interesting.

I was getting out of a cab, and answering my mobile. "Hello." I said.

"John." The voice on the other end was recognizable.

I looked around me and saw that I was on the streets. I started walking towards a building just ahead. "Hey, Sherlock, you okay?" I asked.

Her voice sounded frantic, "Turn around and walk back the way you came now."

I turned back, obviously bewildered about the situation, "Where?" I asked the genius.

"Stop there." She commanded.

I stopped, "Sherlock?"

"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop." Sherlock said, sounding rather scared.

I looked up in horror, "Oh God."

Sherlock was standing on the edge of the roof opposite of me. I knew what act would follow. "I… I… I can't come down, so we'll… we'll just have to do it like this." She said tearfully.

I was becoming anxious, "What's going on?"

The next part of the conversation became silent, our mouths were moving but I could hear no sounds. My heart felt heavy and dead. I could not bring myself to look at the beautiful genius above me. Wait, what the hell? I began to walk forward.

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move." Sherlock urged.

I stopped walking again, my eyes began to fill with tears that I would not let fall, "All right."

Her breaths became faster and less controlled, "Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?" I asked, my gaze never leaving her for a second.

"This phone call- it's, um… it's my note. It's what people do, don't they- leave a note?" Sherlock asked.

I removed the mobile from my ear for half a second to get my bearings, "Leave a note when?" I asked. I had to keep her talking. I had to keep her alive for as long as I could.

"Goodbye, John." She said.

My heart sunk, and tears started to fall. This couldn't be happening. "No. Don't." I said into my mobile hoping that she was still listening to me.

Sherlock threw her mobile behind her on the roof. She stretched her arms outwards.

I lowered my phone and yelled, "No. SHERLOCK!"

My brilliant angel fell from the rooftop. I watched in a complete and utter silence as she fell. My tears were not restrained any longer. I stood there and watched her. Just before Sherlock hit the pavement, everything went black.

I jerked awake, sitting straight up in my bed. I felt the racing beat of my heart. I started to take long deep breaths to calm myself. I turned to look at the clock on my nightstand; it was 5:58 a.m. "Ugh, at least it's not 1 or 2. That would be torture." I rubbed my eyes, and got out of bed. I needed some water and some time to think. I opened my door and went to the kitchen. Now in hindsight, going to the kitchen in only my pants was probably not the best idea. I opened the cabinet and grabbed a cup shakily. I closed the cabinet and turned around.

To my surprise Sherlock was sitting in the kitchen chair, examining something on her microscope. Why that was in the kitchen, I couldn't say. She had apparently changed, because instead of her business attire, she was wearing a black nightgown and a blue robe. "Yes John a cuppa would be nice." She said, still investigating what was in the microscope. I noticed that her dark brown hair was a curly disheveled mess.

"Uh." I stood there absolutely dumbfounded. I was in only my pants in front of a woman. Good Lord!

She spoke again, still not moving her head, "There's a robe in the bath."

I turned right around and walked towards the bath. It only took me a minute to find the robe and walk back to the kitchen. "Right, sorry about that. Couldn't sleep." I cleared my throat, trying to recover any dignity that I had left. I went back to the sink to boil the kettle. "So, why are you up?" I asked.

She stopped toying with the microscope and glanced over at me for just a second, and then went back to gazing through the instrument of science. "The same;" She said, "bad dreams."

"You? Bad dreams? Sherlock Holmes has bad dreams?" I teased.

She scoffed, "Yes John, bad dreams. It's a concept of the mind, I've got one and so do you. It would only make sense that I dream, especially given the fact that my mind is always in use."

"Wait, how did you know I had a bad dream?" I asked, ignoring Sherlock's boast about how superior she is.

"Your heavy breathing indicates that your heart rate is increased. That is usually caused by fear or intimacy; we can already cross off that last one. The next question is: what caused the fear? Well, the fact that you didn't bother to dress for company says that it was a recent cause, but not very important. You were just asleep, and not to mention the fact that you witnessed two deaths and you jumped off a roof all in one day. It's obviously a nightmare. Also I heard you." Sherlock finished the explanation without fault.

I looked at her with my usual confused look, "You heard me?"

"Yes you were shouting in your sleep." She said, nonchalantly.

I suddenly remembered the dream and became very embarrassed, "Really? What… what did I say?" I asked, hoping that she did not hear what I had actually said in the dream.

"Something about a familiar genius; I didn't really pay much attention to it." She said waving it off.

Oh God, she heard. That's really embarrassing. Oh well, at least she's not drawing her annoying attention to it. I looked at her for a moment; she looked extremely… well distressed. I looked closely at her eyes and noticed the bags. "Right." I sat down at the chair closest to the boiling kettle. "How long have you been up?" Despite her usual dick-like behavior, I was actually worried about the detective.

"Oh, since about 6 a.m." She said.

It was only around 5 when I woke up. "You've been awake since 6 a.m. yesterday morning?" I was really starting to get worried.

"Very good John, you can count." She said coyly.

"You're even more of an ass without any sleep." I replied. Wow, didn't know I was that sassy.

Sherlock sat back in her chair and looked over at me, "John-"

"No. Don't speak." I interrupted her. "You are a complete ass of a flat mate, d'you know that? But somehow, for some reason, it doesn't really bother me. So, when someone shows even a little bit of concern for- oh I don't know- your health, be a little grateful." The kettle began to steam. I got up and prepared the tea. When I was done, I brought a cup over to Sherlock, "We're out of teabags; I'll go find a shop that's open and get more." I said, walking back towards my room to put on proper clothes.

"John." Sherlock said, stopping me in my tracks. "Thank you."

I continued to walk back to my room. "This damn detective is going to be the death of me." I smiled.

**_Here's a little bit of sassy JohnLock fluff for you! Keep reading and please tell me what you think! I'll keep posting. This is one of the most interesting Fanfics I have ever written so following it and favoriting it means a lot to me :) Thanks for sticking around._**


	13. Chapter 13

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

I returned about an hour later with the teabags. In all honesty, we didn't really have enough money for them, but I assume that we'll land something soon. I opened the door, but the scene I saw was very surprising and yet not at the same time. The flat was filled with police, and Lestrade stood there beside Sherlock, hashing it out. "I'm sorry, what's going on here?" I asked.

Sherlock walked over to me in a huff. "You can't just break into my flat" She yelled at Lestrade.

"And you can't withhold evidence, or steal it. And I didn't break into your flat." Lestrade answered holding the folder Sherlock had taken earlier.

"Oh, really? What do you call this then?" Sherlock snapped.

"Drugs bust." Lestrade said.

I laughed, "Seriously, Sherlock a junkie? Have you met her?"

"John." Sherlock whispered.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day and you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." I laughed, pretty sure about my own analysis.

"John, you might want to shut up now." She urged.

I looked at Sherlock, "Yeah, but come on… no…"

Sherlock gained a bit of an attitude, "What?"

I found this moment to be much more hilarious, "You?" I asked.

"Shut up." She snapped, walking back over to Lestrade in anger. "I'm not your sniffer dog!"

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog." Lestrade answered, nodding towards the kitchen where Anderson searched.

"What? Anderson?" She said walking forward to better see into the kitchen. "What are you doing here on a drugs bust?"

Anderson called out from the kitchen, "Oh I volunteered."

Lestrade cut in, "They all did. They're not strictly speaking 'on' the drug squad, but they are very keen."

A dark skinned woman called out from the kitchen, holding a jar, "Are these human eyes?"

Sherlock pointed at the jar in annoyance, "Put those back!"

"But they were in the microwave." She answered, slightly repulsed by the jar of eyes.

"It's an experiment, Donovan." She spat.

"I told you, I'm clean." Sherlock scowled in frustration, turning back to Lestrade and rolling up her sleeve to reveal the nicotine patches on her arm.

"So am I." Lestrade said, doing the same. He shrugged, "Oh well, I've got my file back and that's all that matters. All right team, let's clear out." Lestrade ordered. He turned back to Sherlock, who had huffily taken a seat in her chair, "Try not to steal from me anymore; I can arrest you for that. Oh, and Molly fixed your chair, we'll bring it in just before we leave."

"Erm, what chair?" I asked.

Sherlock turned to me, "I asked Molly to fix your chair yesterday."

I nodded, "Oh, thank you, Sherlock. That's very kind."

Lestrade started to walk with his team out of the flat. The dark skinned woman stopped to talk to me. "Sargent Donovan." She said extending her hand.

"Hello, John Watson." I said, shaking her hand.

"Can I give you a bit of advice?" She asked.

"Um, sure." I replied to her unusual request.

"You're not her friend. She doesn't have friends. Stay away from her." She warned.

"Ha, why?" I asked. Okay now I have to entertain this thought.

"You know why she does this? Solve crimes? She's not paid or anything. She likes it. Gets off on it. The weirder, more interesting the crime, the more she gets off. And you know what? One day it won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there." Donovan sighed.

"Oh yeah? Why would she do that?" I asked.

"Because she's a psychopath. Psychopaths get bored." She said, with contempt riding her words.

"Well, I believe the term was high functioning sociopath." I blinked. Man, I am sassy. Huh, high five to John.

Donovan left, following her team out of the flat. Two officers came back in to deliver the chair, but then left promptly after.

"Well?" I asked as I sat down in my newly refurbished chair.

"Well what?" She asked.

"What do we do know?" I asked, answering Sherlock's question. That's a paradox if I've ever seen one. "Should I call Mycroft to see if he'll still extend his invitation to solve that case?"

"No. He'll come to us if he's desperate enough. We will not grovel. I will not be the younger sister, not again." She ranted.

"Well Sher, you kind of are the younger sister." I mused.

Sherlock snapped her head up to look at me, "Sher?"

"Oh right, sorry. You don't like that nickname. I'll make a mental note of that." I corrected myself. Damn, why am I giving people nicknames now?

"Don't worry about it." She said, dropping the annoyed tone in her voice.

I pressed my lips out and cleared my throat, "So, we haven't checked the mail yet have we?" I asked.

"No. Mrs. Hudson does that." Sherlock corrected me.

"Ah, well." I said, letting the room go quiet for a few moments. "Oh, hey, I know. Earlier yesterday you said that she owed you a favor, what for?" I asked.

"Oh right, yes. Her husband was being held in trial down in Florida. He was being put to death." Sherlock explained.

"Oh so you stopped it?" I asked.

"No, I ensured it." She grinned.

"Oh." I said. Well this is awkward. I leaned forward to the coffee table. Damn. Lestrade took the paper. I leaned back in the chair.

There were a few more minutes of awkward silence until I heard footsteps climbing up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway, "Um, Sherlock, this woman dropped off a letter for you. I thought I'd give it to you before I forgot." She said, holding it out.

I got up from the chair to grab the letter, God knows Sherlock won't. "Thank you Mrs. Hudson." I walked back to my chair and sat down to read the letter.

"Mrs. Hudson, bring some tea up here will you." She smiled.

"Alright, but just this once. I'm not your housekeeper." She warned in her usual high pitched voice.

I looked over at Mrs. Hudson, "Oh and could you bring some biscuits as well?" I asked.

"Not your housekeeper." She said walking back down the stairs.

"Thank you." I yelled so that Mrs. Hudson could hear.

I unfolded the letter and began to read it. "Um Sherlock."

"What?" She asked.

"It's another poem." I answered, staring at the typed poem.

"Oh good, the poet answered. Read it." Sherlock commanded.

Oh great, now I get to read poetry. My dignity is out the door. I began to read the poem:

_Dearest Sherlock, how sweet of you to ask_

_But for now just focus on your task_

_I will give my name, but all in good time_

_Now go be clever, and solve the crime_

"Looks like someone really fancies you." I laughed. "You suppose the woman who dropped it off was the murderer?" I asked.

"It is indeed possible, but highly improbable. It's probably another expendable lackey." Sherlock sighed.

"Should we tell Lestrade about the poem?" I asked. Maybe if we get the police in on this, they could help. Let's explore the most probable answer from Sherlock: No.

"No," She answered, "They won't be able to help." She said waving off the idea. She fixed her hands in a prayer position and placed them gently on her mouth.

Oh look, I was right! "Yes I figured you would say that."

"Then why did you ask?" She asked, looking up at me with confused eyes.

"Well, I thought that maybe Sherlock Holmes would consult with professionals, instead of doing amateur work." I sighed, "But then again I had only just met you yesterday."

"How's Harry?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" I asked bewildered at the question.

"Your brother." She said sitting up and dropping her hands. "Look at your phone. It's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you're out of work; you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches - not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already."

I took out my mobile and looked at the back of it. It showed the engraving 'Harry Watson- from Clara XXX'. "The engraving?" I asked.

"Harry Watson - clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father - this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara - who's Clara? Three kisses says romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently - this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then - six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it - he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch." She paused for a moment to let the thoughts sink in. "You're looking for cheap accommodation and you're not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How- how could you possibly know about the drinking?" I asked. Okay now I am confused and God help me because I know she has a point to all of this. She usually doesn't show off unless she has a point to prove.

"Shot in the dark. Good one though." She smiled. "Power connection- tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them. There you go, now do you see?" She asked.

I looked at the charger port to see the scratches, "See what?" I asked.

"Sherlock Holmes does not do amateur work." She sighed.

And there it is! The point! "That was amazing." I said, slowly.

"You think so?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, yes. It was quite amazing. I get the point." I cleared my throat. Boy this is awkward.

"That's not what people normally say." She responded with a familiar confused gaze.

"What do people normally say?" I asked.

"Oh, piss off." She laughed. "So?" She asked.

"So what?" I asked putting my phone in my pocket.

"Did I get anything wrong?" She asked.

"Well, Harry and me don't get on. Never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago, and they're getting a divorce. Harry is a drinker." I confirmed.

"Spot on then. Hm, I didn't expect to get everything right." Sherlock grinned, very pleased with herself.

"Harry is short for Harriet." I corrected.

"Sister! Harry's your sister! There's always something." She gasped in angst.

I laughed, as the phone rang. "Oh calm down Sherlock." I answered the phone, "Hello?" I put the phone to my chest, "Um Sherlock, its Mycroft."

_**Yes I know it's a lot of the lines from the show, but I thought it would be really important to introduce Donovan exactly the same way. Also I think we needed a little Harriet ;) So please review and tell me what you think of it so far :) I still have a lot to post so hang in there! **_


	14. Chapter 14

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

Sherlock took the phone and switched it on speaker, "Oh hello brother dear! Why are we calling so early? I assumed that your schedule is busy: stopping terrorists at 5, a cuppa at 6, analysis at 8." She mused.

"Sherlock, have you thought about the case?" Mycroft sighed, not giving in to the sibling quarry.

"What case?" Sherlock shrugged.

"Sherlock I will not play these childish games!" Mycroft strained.

"Oh calm down Mycroft, of course I thought about it." Sherlock sighed. "I'm always thinking."

"So have you reconsidered your previous decision to decline my request?" Mycroft asked.

I looked at Sherlock and nodded. Mycroft works for the Queen which means he is financially set. I need some sort of pay. This job could have us set for- oh I don't know- life!

Sherlock grimaced, "Fine, I'll take a look, but on one condition."

"Alright." Mycroft agreed.

"John wants money." Sherlock compromised.

"Sherlock!" I yelled, and then faded into a whisper, "I do not want money."

"Oh, hello John." Mycroft announced. "I'll send a team to bring you over."

"No-" Mycroft hung up the phone as Sherlock protested.

"Wait, when you said you had the British Government practically in your back pocket, you actually meant it?" I smiled.

"Of course John, I hardly lie… well when it's not absolutely imperative." She paced.

"What in the hell are you doing?" I asked. Pacing is odd, especially when Sherlock does it, because it means she's thinking. When she thinks, she gets into trouble and bad things happen.

"I'm thinking." She replied.

"About what?" My expression changed from confusion to concern. I guess if I had a talent, it would be my ability to adapt to the situation, besides the fact that I was taught that in Afghanistan.

"The poem. The Nonsense Poem." She said. "The poem wasn't prevalent to the fire case, because no note was left for me there. However, the new poem says to solve the case, but the only case we have been presented with recently is-"

"Mycroft's case." I finished. "How did the murderer know that Mycroft presented you with a case?"

"Mycroft came over last night, and we can only assume by the events that occurred earlier that day that the poet is watching us. The poem came before Mycroft even visited, but it can't possibly be the Denmo case because they sent another poem after Lestrade stole the file back. The murderer knows I don't have the file and that I won't help the police with the case. The murderer is also controlling the game, so they won't want me prying into the Denmo case that is connected directly to them. So, the case made up by our clever little poet can only be one we hadn't been confronted with yet. Mycroft came by later that night and presented us with a new case. This new case is linked with the poem. That's why Mycroft wouldn't solve it on his own! He doesn't have all the evidence! Oh John, this is exciting!" She yelled, stopping her pace.

"Yeah that all makes sense, but we stole the file at the station. How did the poet know? If the murderer is watching our flat, how did they know about the file? And better yet, how did they know that Lestrade would take it back if he didn't know it was missing in the first place?" I asked.

"Oh…" Sherlock whispered with her eyes wide open.

"What?" I asked, not stirring from my comfortable chair.

"Watching us… watching every move we make. From Denmo to-" Sherlock stopped and smiled. "Oh John, come on! Think. What is the common denominator?" She asked, sitting in the chair in front of me.

"Um, I don't know. There's us, Lestrade, Mycroft, Anderson, Donovan, and that poor bloke you scared off." I counted.

"You're missing one." Sherlock whispered.

"Ok, Sherlock if you know who the murderer is why are you saying it at a place where they are watching us?" I stopped her.

"Oh, there are no cameras or bugs if that's what you're worried about. I checked last night while I was up." She dismissed.

"Oh good. Well, if I'm missing one, who is it?" I asked, carrying on the previous conversation.

"John, who is one person that can go unnoticed, one person with a nametag that is seldom read and remembered, one lowly person whose job it is to fetch things?" She asked, her voice becoming ominous. "The one person you missed."

"A cabbie?" I laughed, Sherlock did not look amused. "Okay, let me think." I thought hard about this. Who have we spoken to since yesterday? Flashes of yesterday entered my mind as I thought.

_'Don't you see,' Sherlock looked at the girl's nametag, 'Maya'_

_A young woman walked towards his desk, carrying a coffee. 'Thank you Maya.'_

"Maya?" I asked. "The coffee girl?"

"Now what are the chances that we meet a girl with the same name and face in the same day?" Sherlock smiled. "Very slim Dr. Watson; very slim indeed."

"Um, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson cut in, standing over by the door. "There are some people here to see you." She let two very well dressed buff men into the room.

Oh God. I didn't even notice that Sherlock was still in her nightgown, and apparently nor did she. "Mycroft?" Sherlock asked the two men.

"We were told to make sure you were fully clothed and ready to be transported." One of them answered.

Sherlock smiled. "Well, let's go then."

"Please put on clothes, Miss Holmes." The same man asked. "We were told to make sure you were fully clothed."

She exemplified herself, "And I am. Let's go." She said, butting her way out of the room and down the stairs.

"I'll get a change of clothes." Mrs. Hudson volunteered, returning with proper clothes for Sherlock.

I nodded, grabbing the clothes from Mrs. Hudson. "Shall we?"

_**Thanks for reading! Still more to go so please hang in there! I love writing this so it really means a lot to me that you all read it :) Please review so I know how you guys feel about it. Thank you so much! **_


	15. Chapter 15

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

Sherlock and I sat on the couch in Buckingham Palace. I looked around to see the gold and red decorations of this magnificent building. "Sherlock, I brought you clothes." I said, suggesting that she put them on, especially given the setting.

"Yes John, I noticed." She replied. "Mrs. Hudson gathered it for me?" She asked.

"Yes. I'm not one to roam around a woman's closet." I replied.

"Yes, nor her bedroom. Well, that settles that." She answered.

Albeit I was a little offended by the accusation that I am… well gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Being gay is… fine, it's not something I would choose, but more power to you. "What's settled?" I asked.

"I'm not wearing the clothes." She said, folding her arms in protest.

"Why not?" I asked, it looks like perfectly fine clothes to me. Hell, if I were a woman, I'd wear them. Wow, this is not helping my case.

"Knowing Mrs. Hudson, she probably gave me something purple to wear." She sighed.

"Yeah, so?" I pressed on.

"I only wear royal purple. My image is everything, or well most things rather." She frowned.

"Well, Sherlock, if you even looked at the clothes she grabbed, you would see a royal purple blouse." I laughed. Sherlock is adorable when she frowns.

She looked over, "Oh yes. It appears so." She moved her head back to facing the sofa opposite of us. "Still not wearing it."

"Oh bloody hell." I whispered. "I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray. Feels like I'm here to see the Queen." I laughed, changing the conversation and atmosphere.

Mycroft started to appear in our view, walking professionally towards us. Sherlock turned towards me, "Apparently you are." She chuckled.

We both cracked up laughing, but stopped as soon as Mycroft entered the room. He rolled his eyes immediately. "Glad you can find mirth in this situation Sherlock. Could you two behave like grown-ups?" He smiled, insincerely.

"We solve crimes, I blog about it, and she forgets her clothes so I wouldn't hold out too much hope." I smiled. Man I really do not like Sherlock's brother.

"You blog about it?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I was planning on it." I replied.

"Hm, that's rather sentiment. Why?" She asked, nearly spitting at the word sentiment.

"I have a therapist-"

"Yes I know." Sherlock interrupted.

"You know?" I asked.

"Well John, you had a cane when I first met you, and you only got shot in the upper left chest cavity. That's a psychosomatic limp; of course you've got a therapist." She sighed.

"Yeah, I'm still mad about that by the way. You owe me a cane." I threatened.

"Oh please John; the money will come out of your pocket anyways." She scoffed.

"Are you two done quarrelling like an old married couple?" Mycroft asked with a venomous sting.

"Yes well, not too keen on starting the case right away." She said, leaning back into the sofa.

"Really Sherlock I'm surprised. Usually you're very eager to show off, and now your genius even has an audience- a dim one I'll admit- but all the same." Mycroft retorted, crossing his legs.

I was extremely offended, but Sherlock butt in before I could retaliate.

"Well Mycroft, I've never really considered you to be dim, but I guess you're the real expert aren't you?" Sherlock replied, mimicking Mycroft's movements.

"Put your clothes on, so we can begin." Mycroft commanded.

"I am fully clothed. It's not as if I am wearing a sheet." Sherlock argued.

"Sherlock, you are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation, put your clothes on!" Mycroft yelled.

"Before I do brother mine, tell me a secret would you?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" Mycroft sighed.

"I want to know who my client is." Sherlock bargained.

"That information is to remain a secret." Mycroft raised his head to emit superiority to his sister, or that's what I like to think. He is quite the dominance type. "Go put on your clothes."

"Not until I know who my client is." Sherlock replied, not giving an inch.

"Sherlock Holmes, put your clothes on!" Mycroft commanded, unwavering.

Needless to say that Sherlock is smart enough to know when she can't win, so she huffily got up and grabbed her clothes to change. She reentered the room, wearing a royal purple buttoned-up blouse and a pencil skirt, similar to the one she had worn yesterday. Her hair was now more tamed and actually looked quite nice. Her unrivaled anger showed on her face like a light-house, but I thought it would be better not to say anything about it.

Sherlock sat there on the couch sulking slightly, "Go on Mycroft." She hissed.

"Sherlock, please meet your client." Mycroft said, introducing a man as he walked into the room.

"And my client is?" Sherlock asked.

"Illustrious, in the extreme, and remaining- I'll have to inform you- entirely anonymous." The man replied. He walked near Mycroft extending a hand, "Mycroft!"

"Harry." Mycroft smiled, walking over to shake his hand, "May I apologize for the state of my little sister?"

"Full-time occupation I imagine." Harry laughed, which only made Sherlock scowl. "You must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fulisiers." He said, as I stood up to shake his hand.

"Yes hello." I replied.

He moved towards Sherlock as she rose and shook hands. "And you are Sherlock Holmes, the younger Holmes. You look taller in your photographs."

"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." Sherlock smiled.

"I am taller than you!" I corrected Sherlock.

"You are short for a man John, and that is blatantly obvious." Sherlock responded calmly. She walked abruptly past Harry and turned to Mycroft, "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work."

"This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!" Mycroft yelled.

"Who is my client?!" Sherlock yelled back, getting just as fed up as her brother.

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land." Mycroft tried to convince his sister. "Now please, sit down and join us."

Sherlock turned back to her place on the sofa and sat down. I proceeded to follow her. A worker came into the room and set down a tray of tea for us.

Mycroft scooted forward to serve the tea, "I'll be mother." He said.

Sherlock rolled her eyes and chimed in, "And there's a whole childhood in a nutshell."

Mycroft glared at her as he set down the kettle.

Harry began to speak, "My employer has a problem."

Mycroft sat back and began to shed light on this statement, "A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear sister, your name has arisen."

"Why?" Sherlock asked. "You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Miss Holmes?" Harry asked.

"Not- to date- anyone with a navy." She snapped.

Mycroft butt in to calm the situation, "This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust."

"You don't trust your own secret service?" I asked, taking a backseat to the conversation.

"Naturally not. They all spy on people for money." Mycroft replied.

I tried very hard to hold in a laugh, as Harry picked up the conversation. "Mycroft, we have a timetable to keep."

"Of course," Mycroft replied, fetching pictures out of a briefcase, "What do you know about this man?" He asked.

Sherlock took the pictures and I leaned over to look. There was a man in compromising positions, with an overhead slogan saying 'Know When You Are Beaten'. Sherlock responded, "Nothing whatsoever."

Mycroft sneered, "Then you should be paying more attention. He has been at the center of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately."

"Mycroft, you know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is he?" Sherlock asked.

"This man is Eren Adler, there are many names for what he does, but he prefers dominatrix." Mycroft replied.

"Hm, a dominatrix." Sherlock said aloud while thinking.

"Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex." Mycroft explained.

"Oh sex doesn't alarm me." Sherlock reassured.

"How would you know?" Mycroft sneered. "He provides- shall we say- recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it." He brought out more pictures and handed them to Sherlock. "These are all from her website."

"I assume this Adler man has some compromising photographs." Sherlock said, reviewing the photos.

"You're very quick Miss Holmes." Harry chimed in.

"That's hardly a difficult deduction." Sherlock replied coyly. "Who are the photographs of?" She asked.

"A person of significance to my employer; we'd prefer not to sat anymore at this time." Harry replied, fishing for the right words to say.

"You can't tell us anything?" I asked, reminding the party that I am indeed still here.

Mycroft turned his attention to me, "I can tell you it's a young person." He sucked in a breath, "A young female person."

Oh my God, my eyes got wide as I heard the news. Sherlock smirked, "How many photographs?" she asked.

"A considerable number apparently." Mycroft answered.

"I'm assuming Mr. Adler and this young female person appear in those photographs together, and in some compromising scenarios." Sherlock said, quickly deducing the situation.

"An imaginative range, we are assured." Mycroft sighed.

"Well," Harry began, "can you help us?"

"How?" Sherlock asked.

"Will you take the case?" Harry expanded.

"What case?" Sherlock asked. "Pay him, now and in full. As Mr. Adler remarks in his masthead, 'know when you are beaten'."

"Sir Adler got in touch with us. He informed us that the photographs existed, but he indicated that he had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour." Mycroft corrected.

Sherlock smiled, suddenly showing interest in the case, "Oh, a power play; a power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Sherlock…" I whispered, reminding her of social graces.

"Text me where she is staying currently and I will be in touch by the end of the day." Sherlock said, getting up from the sofa, nearing the exit.

Harry spoke up, stopping Sherlock in her tracks, "Do you really think you'll have news by then?"

Sherlock turned around, "No, I think I'll have the photographs." She answered.

Harry looked skeptically at her, "One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think."

Sherlock smirked as she looked him up and down, no doubt analyzing him. "I'll need some equipment of course."

Mycroft stood up to join the conversation, "Anything you require. I'll have it sent to-"

"Can I have a box of matches?" Sherlock asked, interrupting her brother, and turning her attention to Harry.

"I'm sorry?" Harry asked.

"Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do." Sherlock shrugged.

Harry shook his head, "I don't smoke."

"No, I know you don't, but your employer does." Sherlock corrected. Oh look at that! Sherlock's proving a point again. Who could have foreseen this?!

Harry reached into his pocket to retrieve the lighter, puzzled by what Sherlock had just said. "We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Miss Holmes."

"Oh, I'm not the Commonwealth." Sherlock grinned, glad to have proven a point once again.

I stepped in before the conversation could progress, "And that's as modest as she gets. Pleasure to meet you." I waked with Sherlock out of Buckingham Palace.

We stopped to flag down a taxi, and I couldn't help but ask, "Ok, the smoking. How did you know?"

We slid inside the cab and Sherlock gave a small smile, "The evidence was right under your nose John. As ever, you see but do not observe."

I turned to her, "Observe what?" I asked.

Sherlock reached into her coat and pulled out an ashtray, tossing and catching it in the air, "The ashtray."

We both began to laugh. The more I spend time with Sherlock, the more I begin to enjoy her company. Her witty and brilliant mind makes adventures more fun to be on, albeit it can ruin some aspects, but for the most part it's really quite enjoyable. I can only assume that this upcoming 'Nonsense' case will be a roller-coaster ride. One I can tell my kids for years to come.

_**One thing I must address is that if you leave reviews, please do not leave hateful ones or I will respond to you in the same. I do not want to, but I will if I must. You do not have to like this story, hell you don't even have to read it! But please, if you are thinking of leaving a hateful remark then just forget it and stop reading. I will keep posting. Have a great day. **_


	16. Chapter 16

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

"So what's the plan?" I asked, as we sat in the taxi, driving to Eren Adler's current position.

"We know his address." Sherlock stated.

"What, we just ring his doorbell?" I asked, cocking my eyebrows.

"Exactly." Sherlock called out to the driver, "Just here, please."

"Where are we? This his place?" I asked, walking out of the cab, and following after Sherlock.

"Two streets away, but it'll do." She said, walking into the alley way.

"For what?" I asked, as Sherlock turned around to face me.

"Punch me in the face." Sherlock commanded, gesturing to her left cheek.

"Punch you?" I asked for reassurance. I have never hit a woman, and I will continue to do so.

"Yes. Punch me, in the face. Didn't you hear me?" She said, pointing towards her left cheek once again.

"I normally hear 'punch me in the face' when you speak, but it's usually sub-text." I mused.

"Oh for God's sake John." Sherlock sighed, exasperated. She reeled back her arm and launched her knuckles right in my face. Yes, Sherlock Holmes punched me in the face.

I turned my head away, grunting in pain and reeling from the hit. Sherlock just stood there, shaking her hand. It probably hurt to punch me. Good! Fine, if Sherlock wants me to hit her, I will. Sherlock isn't a woman right now. In my mind, she's an enemy soldier who just assaulted me. I took my right fist and punched her in her left cheek, exactly where I was told. I could have hit her with my left, but it would have hurt more for her. "Ow!" I yelled.

Sherlock turned around and picked herself up, flexing her hand. She straightened up, holding her fingers to the cut on her cheekbones.

Oh shit… I made her bleed. Oh good Lord!

She took a deep breath, "Thank you, John." She cleared her throat, walking towards Sir Adler's address. She buzzed the intercom, getting into character.

A woman answered, "Hello?"

Sherlock started crying and spinning her head anxiously, "Ooh! Um, sorry to disturb you. Um, I've just been attacked, um, and, um, I think they… they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Umm, please could you help me?"

Huh, Sherlock is a pretty good actress despite the punch I just gave her.

"I can phone 999 if you want." The woman answered.

Sherlock continued to cry, "Thank you, thank you! Could you please?" She took in a deep breath, "Oh, would you… would you mind if I just waited here, just until they come? Thank you. Thank you so much." Sherlock continued to gasp and cry, as she pulled a hanker-chief out to stop the cut from bleeding any further.

The woman on the other side buzzed us in. I followed Sherlock's anxious walk inside the house. "Thank you." Sherlock sighed.

I decided that I should explain my role in this charade, "I- I saw it all happen. It's okay, I'm a doctor." The woman nodded at me and I continued, "Now, have you got a first aid kit?" I asked.

"In the kitchen." The woman smiled, as she gestured for Sherlock to move to the front room. "Please." She said as she led me to the kitchen.

"Oh! Thank you!" Sherlock gasped, moving to the room.

I repeated Sherlock's thanks as I followed her to the kitchen. "Excuse me Miss; I didn't catch your name." I said as she gathered a bowl of water and a fabric napkin.

"Kate." She said, handing me the medical supplies.

"Ah well thank you Kate. I better get back to, uh, that poor woman." I said, carrying the bowl to the front room. "Right this should do it." I said, keeping my eyes on the bowl, so that I didn't accidentally spill it. When I looked up, I saw a flabbergasted Sherlock, with a completely naked man in front of her with a confident expression. "I've missed something haven't I?" I said clicking my tongue and returning my attention back to the bowl.

"Oh, have a seat." The man said, moving away from Sherlock. The man sat down in the nearest arm chair and crossed his legs. "If you'd like some tea I can call the maid."

Sherlock faced him, "No thank you Sir Adler. I had some at the Palace."

He smiled, "I know you did, and please call me Eren."

"Yes, Eren, clearly." Sherlock replied, keeping eye contact with Eren.

I cleared my throat as I sat the bowl down on the table in the corner, and moved to sit by Sherlock, "I had a tea, too, at the Palace, if anyone's interested."

"Oh, look at that. Somebody loves you. Why if I had to punch that face I'd avoid your nose and teeth too." He smiled. Eren looked over at me and I laughed nervously.

"Could you put something on? Anything at all? A napkin? I've got one over there at that table. Works just fine." I suggested.

He laughed, and by the look of him and his mannerisms I could tell that he was gay. "Why?" He asked. "Are you felling exposed?"

"I don't think John knows where to look." Sherlock said, standing up. She picked up her coat and handed it to Eren. I had to maintain eye contact so it wouldn't make this situation anymore awkward.

"I think he know exactly where, you however, I am not so sure about." He said as he took the coat from her.

"If I wanted to look at naked men I'd borrow John's laptop." She said, not showing a single tone of emotion.

Look another gay joke… "You do borrow my laptop." I stated.

Sherlock walked over to the fireplace, opposite of where I was, "I confiscate it." She said.

Eren put on the jacket and sat back down. "Oh well. Time for business. Did you figure it out? All that nonsense?" He asked.

"That's not why I am here, don't bother." She replied.

"Oh, yes I know. You're here for the photographs, but it's all connected isn't it? You know that don't you Sher?" He smiled.

"How do you know about that? We haven't told anyone." I asked, looking at Sherlock with a confused face, hoping that she would give an explanation.

Sherlock met my gaze and subtly shook her head and turned back to Eren, "You don't plan to use the photographs for extortion, so why keep them?" She asked.

"I've grown quite fond of them." He responded.

"Or, you're holding them for favours. You won't turn them in for favours; people have to give you what you want first, and then you will turn them in." Sherlock theorized, motioning at me to move towards the door.

"Or maybe they were just bait." Eren whispered.

"John, get the door please. Mr. Adler and I are going to have a chat; don't let anyone in." Sherlock said.

I closed the door and stood on the outside of it.

_**Thank you for reading! I appreciate it :) I will keep posting and I promise that I will cease parallels very soon!**_


	17. Chapter 17

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

Before I begin, I would like to say that John was rather insistent that I do this chapter. I was told that talking through this event would help me cope, but I don't possibly know what he is referring to. This so called 'blog' is not very popular, so I don't see the point. However, if it makes John less irritable then I will oblige.

The setting resumes with John on one side of a closed door and Sir Adler and I on the other. I stood fixed to the fireplace as Eren Adler took his place on the sofa across from me. "Bait? What do you mean bait?" I inquired. Sir Adler was hiding something about our poetic fiend.

"I've heard about you Sher. All sorts of people are interested in you. Care to know who?" He smiled.

"No. Not particularly." I folded my arms behind my back. Bait? Let me show you bait.

"I know you're lying, Sher. Come on. Don't you want to take the plunge?" Eren slowly picked himself up from the sofa, walking towards me. Good. Take the bait. "Don't you want to extend your brilliant mind? Don't you want to know what my secret is?" He whispered, a breaths distance from me.

Dilated pupils, stagnant breaths, and persuasive emotion. Good. This is going as planned. "No. I'll tell you what I will do. I will listen to your information, and then you will give me the photographs without going to prison or a morgue. Are we understood?" My trap was set, and all that was left was for Sir Adler to step in it.

"Oh, no. That's not going to happen. I am far too important for you to lose." Sir Adler stared into my eyes with a grin.

"Really? Then I better find them for myself shall I?" I asked backing up to scan the room. Pawn to E1.

"Find what?" He asked, walking up beside me.

"Oh. Now I see." I gasped turning to face Sir Adler head on, "You don't have the photographs. That's what you meant by bait. If you actually had the photographs you would be on the defensive. You have nothing but a thought, a simple idea that can bring down the entire security system of a government. All you have is words from a credible source and then suddenly you're a threat. I will not solve the case until you give me all of the details. Tell mother goose that I'm retiring early. I do not have any desire to be toyed with any longer." I threatened, striding towards the door.

"Sherlock, wait!" He called after me.

I turned around, suppressing my triumphant grin. And the spider gets trapped in its own web. "What?" I asked.

He walked over to me slowly, "I need a problem solved. The best way to do it was to get you here and solve it without knowing. Your brother was the only way to get you here; otherwise you would have skipped over it." He sighed.

"Your first mistake was thinking that I would not know I had solved a case; really rather careless on your part. Second is that you did not approach me first. Third is that you went to my brother, and I really dislike that last one." I sneered, frowning at this almost extraordinary man.

"Sher, please, solve the case. Solve the case and I will tell you all you need to know you clever girl." He pleaded.

"I need a crime." I responded slowly, biting each word down to create a sense of urgency.

"There is no crime. That's why it's nonsense. Sher, solve the crime." His eyes danced looking deep into both of mine. "It's complete nonsense." He laughed half-heartedly, moving his head forward and…

Well, the next bit is really not important. Eren was desperate for me to solve this case. John walked back inside the room, and I offered that we transport Eren back to the flat. John, Eren, and myself hopped into a cab to solve the case. I hope this sufficient enough for John. That was all that really happened when he left the room. We negotiated a trade of information and headed to the flat. The only thing that bothers me is that there is no case. How can there be no case? How can I solve a case that doesn't exist? I know that Sir Adler is hiding something and if I can get it out of him, then I will know everything about our common denominator. Maya, the coffee girl. We know she is involved, but how exactly? A murderer? A Lackey? A partner? I have my suspicions but I won't know until I have all the information and evidence. I know what I need to do. I will win. This is the game; my game and I will win.

_**Ooh! A little Sherlock eh? I thought that might be fun... Anyways please tell me what you think so far! I would love to know any theories if you have any! I will keep posting as often as I can. I also would like to announce that I am not posting on weekends :)**_


	18. Chapter 18

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

Sherlock and I sat opposite each other in our flat, with Mr. Eren Adler in a kitchen chair right in front of us. Sherlock had approached me with the idea that we take Eren to our flat for questioning- well a questioning of sorts. Sherlock sent Mrs. Hudson out to get clothes for our guest, seeing as he was still completely naked. I am not very comfortable with a naked man in our flat, but Sherlock trusts him to a degree so I guess I will have to bare it. I don't know what all went over in that room, but I can tell that it wasn't good. Sherlock's face was not in its normal pompous know-it-all stage; it was in the I-am-worried-so-I-am-thinking mode. I had decided that from now on, Sherlock would not be allowed alone with Eren Adler. I did not trust him, and I do not want Sherlock to get hurt. She is my flat mate after all. Mr. Adler's features, now in the calm illuminating lights, were more noticeable. His cheekbones were high, much like Sherlock's, giving him a more mischievous look. He had many feminine features: his lips were thin, which made his smiles look like they were hiding something. His dark colored hair was complimented by his steel blue eyes that seemed to be playing with you. He was obviously gay, but it almost seems like a lie. If I were Sherlock I would deduce the hell out of this man and send him out on the streets, but I'm not Sherlock. I don't have that mind. Sherlock just sat there in silence as she placed her hands in her lap. I began to grow more uncomfortable with the silence, "So, he didn't have the photographs?" I asked.

"There are no photographs, right Sir Adler?" Sherlock replied, still not moving from her original spot.

He turned to me with a smile, "Yes. Now go on Sherlock." He moved his gaze back to Sherlock, "Solve my case. She's watching you. He's watching you. They're all watching you. So go on and impress them. Solve my case." He pleaded.

"Let me guess." Sherlock hissed, sitting forward in her chair. "If I don't solve your case, people will die. If it were somebody else, you wouldn't worry about it. People don't. It's all about you and your precious little lives. If it were a loved one, you would never have told the killer. You're not that stupid. If it was yourself, you would do everything in your power to stop it. And your sexual prowess is your power, so let me guess. If I don't solve it, you die. Just like Denmo and his equally stupid lackey." Sherlock bowed her head forward and lowered her voice, "Let me tell you my secret. You will die. Not by my hand and not by the killers, but by your own. You're withholding details that are essential, and it makes no difference to me if you divulge them. It makes no difference to me if you die. I do not care for people Sir Adler. You can feel with your heart, but I pray you not think with it."

Eren shook his head, "You're right Sherlock. I will die. But so will everyone you care about. I wouldn't shrug it off."

"Don't play that game with me." Sherlock rebutted. "If all you are going to say is a gift of warning then you can take your case to someone who will actually give a damn."

"I can't tell you anything." Adler replied. "I can't say a single thing. It's all nonsense." He said, chewing the last word, his eyes begging for Sherlock's help.

Sherlock furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean? That's the third time you've said that."

"If the mute could speak what do you think I can do? Come on. Figure it out. You're clever." His eyes darted, convincing Sherlock to give it a try.

I sat and waited. I couldn't interfere with the interrogation, not when Sherlock was so close to finding out what she wanted. So, for now, I was going to sit back and observe.

"John. Go get the poem." Sherlock commanded.

"Sure." I stood up and walked over to the table that sat right next to Sherlock, cluttered with piles of miscellaneous items. I ruffled through the piles until I found the letter. I quickly handed it to Sherlock and returned to my seat.

She began to read it over and over. "I can't make sense of it." Sherlock scowled, continuing to read the poem. "One bright day in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight? It could be sunset; that is more of a nighttime experience with the light of the day. The boys are already dead. Did someone dig up their graves? Back-to-back they faced one another, drew their swords and shot each other? Bayonets would be the obvious solution to that contradiction. A duel that perhaps started back-to-back? One was blind and the other couldn't see, so they chose a dummy for a referee? Perhaps the second boy was merely an idiot, so ignorant to his surroundings that he disagreed with the referee. A blind man went to see fair play; a mute man went to shout hooray? It sounds more like a war. A deaf policeman heard the noise, and came and shot the two dead boys? Perhaps the boys weren't dead. Maybe they were labeled as dead. That does correlate to the war theory. A paralyzed donkey walking by, kicked the copper in the eye, sent him through a nine inch wall, into a ditch, and drowned them all? Sounds like chaos. It's certainly shaping up to be a war, isn't it? If you don't believe this lie is true; ask the blind man, he saw it too… This could symbolize the rather ignorant nature of the homes from which the soldiers originated. John, you were a soldier, what do you think?" She asked.

"Oh, I don't analyze poems. I was never really that good at English." I shrugged.

"No, John. Come on. Use your head." She urged.

I don't think about the war anymore. I live one. Sherlock and I live in a war, and that takes my mind off of the one I actually almost died in. I never liked analyzing things, for some reason it always leads me to war. Now is not any different. I took a deep breath, "Yeah, Sherlock. It sounds a lot like war." I bowed my head for a second, slowly raising it to be further involved in this discussion.

Sherlock stopped, and gave a polite nod. "Thank you John." She turned back to Eren, "The whole poem is about war. It's not a contradiction at all. Well, war is a contradiction within itself, but other than that it's perfectly sound. There is no 'one culprit'. The culprit is the world. Am I correct?"

Eren nodded, with a cunning smile, "I knew you could get it." He stood up and walked towards the door, "I'll be seeing you." He winked.

"Wait." Sherlock stopped him. "I get to ask three questions." She bargained.

"Fine, I'll be your genie." He sighed.

"What is she?" Sherlock asked.

"A statement." Eren smiled.

"Who is she with?" Sherlock pressed on, treading carefully.

"A large organization."

"What does it have to do with war?" Sherlock asked, getting up from her seat to stand in front of Eren Adler.

"Your heart." He winked, as he turned around to leave the flat.

Sherlock looked at me and all I could do was shrug. Sherlock didn't even solve a true case, let alone only get a confusing riddle in return. At least we know that the murderer is a part of a large organization. I hope it will be easy to find, especially if Sherlock's homeless network is on it. The case is only getting stranger from here.

_**Yay! Back from parallels! I am so excited to get closer to the evil villains! It sounds like so much fun! I appreciate you guys that are reading this because it really means a lot to me despite the hate reviews... But anyways enjoy :)**_


	19. Chapter 19

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

Days past by and we got no answers. Sherlock only slept every few days, going out most nights to check on her homeless network that was failing to get pertinent information. As the days went by, I kept having bad dreams. All of them involved Sherlock and I think she is quite aware of it. My only problem is that I can't seem to stop worrying about her. I was awake one night and I could hear her mumbling. She would sit on the couch, curled up into a ball, muttering words over and over. From what I understood, that word was 'nonsense'. I think that Sir Adler is still bothering Sherlock. I don't know what to do but hopefully I can spark a discussion. That will be a little hard though, considering that she hasn't been allowing conversation lately. It's not that she dislikes me, it's more of the fact that she is constantly thinking. I offered the idea that she get with her brother's organization to help, but she simply refuses. I decided that today would be a good day to lay things out and figure out where we are going from here. I sat down at my chair with a cup of tea for Sherlock and myself. I set down Sherlock's tea on my side-table. I had let Sherlock sleep in a little while, because of how much sleep she had lost in the past few days. I heard the door open, and footsteps leading towards the kitchen. I opened the paper, waiting for Sherlock to take her normal spot across from mine. Sherlock walked up from behind my chair, still in her nightgown and messy hair. She took her tea and sat down. "Good morning Sherlock." I welcomed, putting down my paper.

"Hello John." She sighed, as she took out her mobile.

"Got a text?" I asked. Good, at least she's talking. A conversationless world can really hurt a person, and I'm speaking from a personal experience. I didn't like chatting much before I met Sher. And yes I use her nickname in my head sometimes, so what? It doesn't mean anything.

"Always." She sighed, putting it back in the pocket of her robe.

"From whom?" I asked, sipping my amazingly delicious tea.

"The Network." She said, copying my exact movement.

"Any news?" I asked, interlocking my hands.

"Is there ever?" Sherlock sighed, crossing her legs.

I nodded. Great, still no leads. That's going to be a tough blow on her. We still hadn't spoken about Maya since the other day. I suppose Sher had worked it all out and had kept me in the dark, which I don't mind. That was normal for me.

"John. Can I rack your brain for a moment?" Sher asked.

"Yeah, course." I replied, putting down my cup.

"There's something that I want to say. I… I can't really-"

Her sentence was interrupted by my mobile. It started ringing, and thank God that I finally changed my ringtone. "May I?" I asked for permission to answer the call.

Sherlock nodded, "Of course."

I flipped open the phone and answered, "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was Mycroft, "Any news?" he asked.

"About what?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Sherlock; how is she holding up?" He asked, his voice unwavering.

"You actually are concerned. Wow. Well, not so great: can't sleep, hardly eats. It's hell to be honest." I answered.

Mycroft sighed, "Watch out for her will you? One day she'll fall and I won't be there to catch her. You must make sure that she uses her head, alright? Losing her would break my heart indefinitely."

"I will. Have a nice day, and I will continue to update you if that makes it better." I sympathized with him. My sister was never involved in my life; she never cared, but for Sher, everyone cares. She's a lovable genius.

"Yes, thank you Doctor Watson. If it's not too much, don't tell Sherlock that I spoke to you. She's very protective of you." Mycroft hung up.

I closed my phone and placed it back in my pocket. Sherlock cleared her throat and sat up, "Who was that?"

"Oh, that was, uh, my therapist. Wants to make sure I'm following up on my homework." I laughed.

"Homework? I'm assuming she means the blog?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, the blog that I posted on March 7th. Have you read it?" I asked.

"No, I've been busy." Sherlock said, shaking her head.

"Ah, well anyways, you had something you wanted to say?" I shifted the conversation back to its' original track.

"Um, no, forget about it. It doesn't need saying." She bit her lip, and sipped her tea again.

"Oh, if that's what you want." I cleared my throat. "So, I had a dream last night."

"Yes, I heard." She blinked.

"Want to know what it's about? Try to analyze it for me?" I asked, hoping she would take the bait.

"That's a job for your therapist John."

"Oh come on!" I tried to get her enthused. "You haven't utilized your mind in a bit." I persuaded.

"John I really shouldn't-"

"Please Sher?" I asked.

Sherlock took in a big breath and sighed, "Fine."

"Thank you. It all starts with me getting out of a cab. I'm on the phone and I look up at this rooftop. On the rooftop, there's a friend. This friend and I talk for a bit, but no matter what we say, I know that something bad is going to happen. The person throws their phone and spreads out their arms. I yell after them, but it's too late. They jump off the roof and I can do nothing but stand there and watch. I see them hit the ground, and then I wake up. My eyes are wet with tears, and my heart rate is elevated. I can't understand the dream, but I thought that maybe you could."

Sherlock placed her hands in her prayer position and thought. "John, it's a classic dream."

"It is?" I asked.

"Yes, usually when one dreams of falling, the faller is themselves. However, in your case it's your friend. You think that nothing ever happens to you so why would you be the one falling? A fall dream is caused by worry or distress. Yours would probably be centered around losing a loved one. Is it the same friend every time?" She asked.

"Yep, the exact same one." I nodded.

"Gender?" Sherlock asked.

"Why does that matter?" I asked, sitting back in my chair.

"It always matters John." She replied, oh so matter-of-factly.

"My friend was a woman." I said.

"It's your fear, John. Every bad dream shows our deepest fears. Yours is very human, very sentimental. You fear of losing the only woman you love. It's cliché and regular, but it's real nonetheless." Sherlock finished.

"Wow that makes a lot of sense. What are your dreams about?" I asked.

Sherlock tilted her head, "Why would you care about my dreams John, I don't understand?"

"I'm just curious, and as your friend I am always concerned." I crossed my arms.

She fixed her head back in place, "I dream of falling."

"Falling how?" I asked.

"My dreams start with me falling. I fall and I hit the ground. People crowd around me and I die. That's all." She replied, her voice straight.

"So it's from stress then?" I asked, applying the knowledge I had just learned.

"Obviously, my job is stressful. I have seen the dream countless times and it has never changed. I have learned to deal with it. Now if you will excuse me, John, I have somewhere to be." She said, getting up from her seat.

"Where?" I asked.

"I'm going to go see Sir Adler." She replied.

"We don't even know where he is. He left without a trace, even your brother wouldn't know where he is." I corrected.

She looked at me, and all I could see in her eyes was worry. Sherlock was worried and her attempt at getting more answers began to seem delusional. "I have to find answers John. No note. Nothing in days. Lestrade hasn't phoned. And my only friend is lying to me, so yes John. I'm going to see Sir Adler."

"I'm lying to you?" I questioned.

"Patients call their therapists; not the other way around. Tell Mycroft that the elliptical might work better for him. Start giving him some helpful information." She spat, walking back to her room to change.

I rubbed my face in angst. "I'm sorry Sher." I whispered. "I wish I could help, but I know that I can't..."

_**Here's a little sad chapter for you. I love diving into Sherlock's betrayed side, because it's so much fun. It's a little bit of fluff in their own quirky way. I will keep posting :) Please tell me what you like and keep reading!**_


	20. Chapter 20

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

Sherlock didn't return that day, so I decided to go out to a local clinic and get a job. We are low on funds and I might as well take some initiative. I walked right in, and met with the head nurse. She led me to her office, where I was going to be interviewed. "Please take a seat, Doctor Watson. Just a few minutes and we will be all done." She smiled.

She was a rather short woman, which only seems natural considering her Asian heritage. Not that I'm trying to be racist! I think it's perfectly fine that she is of Asian descent! I have no problem with it whatsoever! Her medium length brown hair matched the darker colour of her brown eyes. She was very inviting and rather cheery, which is a nice change if I do say so myself. "Thank you so much. Um, I'm sorry. I didn't catch you name?" I asked, sitting down in a chair.

"It's Miss Scott. It's really rather plain." She laughed.

"Hey that rhymes!" I pointed out. It is in your best interest as a future employee to get comfortable with your boss. It helps calm the nerves.

"Haha, yes it does, I kind of do it all the time." She winked, laughing at the newest rhyme she had made.

I am starting to like this already. If I can keep this up, then I'm a shoe-in for sure. Miss Scott walked out of the room, and left me sitting quietly in my chair. My mobile started to ring, so I answered it. "Hello?" I asked.

"John." The voice answered.

From the tone, I could tell it was Sherlock, "Hey, Sherlock, look I'm sorry about yesterday alright? It was foolish of me and I won't do it again." I apologized.

"All in the past John listen." She hurried. "I did some more searching with my homeless network and we finally found a name."

"Really? Well tell me!" I demanded, sitting forward, mentally preparing myself for the news.

"The network is an infamous network. It goes by the name of Moriarty. It's run by one man, whom I don't know. However, it appears that the network is split up into sectors. One of which is run by a Maya. John, I have the full name. Maya Nicole Scott, with this name I could get so many answers. Just think of it John!" Sherlock said, her voice practically radiating with happiness.

"Um, Sherlock." I interrupted. This can't be the same Scott, could it? The door opened as Miss Scott stepped back in with a smile. "Marital status?" I asked. Maybe I could narrow it down.

"Unknown. I'm assuming it's single. Psychopaths take pride in their significantly insane others." She replied.

"You have a description?" I asked. Maybe she's Hungarian or American or something.

"John, we have seen her. The coffee girl is obviously of Asian descent. Probably Korean if I were to guess." Sherlock replied, dumbfounded at my negligence.

"Um, Sherlock, what was that word that we use?" I asked.

"The one that symbolizes danger?" Sherlock responded.

"Yes that one." I nodded.

"Vatican Cameos." Sherlock said.

"Oh good. Well, I am in the middle of an interview with Miss Scott. I will see you later Sher, Vatican Cameos." I said, closing my phone a little to make sure Sherlock could still hear. I placed my mobile in my jacket pocket, and looked up at Miss Scott. "Sorry, my flat mate is a little clingy. Tries to make up a language just for us. Poor dear. It's absolutely mental, but then again so are you I suppose." I sighed.

Her face turned from a smile to a calm stare. "Case closed." She said, bringing out a gun from her waistband. "I'm not all fun and games John; you are my hostage when all is said and done."

"Oh, continuing with the rhyme theme are we?" I asked, standing from my chair.

"It's my calling you see? All story tellers need a trade mark, and this one just fits me." She shrugged, following my movements with her gun.

"And what about Moriarty? Puppet master fits him?" I retorted, while trying to fish for information.

"The puppet master does fit Jim. But all that he does is for the good of us all. It's good for every single criminal." She nodded towards the back door of her office. "Move along. We've got somewhere to be in not too long."

"No. I'm not going anywhere with you." I replied, shaking my head. "Even if you threaten to shoot me I won't go, because we both know that I am just leverage to you."

"Indeed that's true." She raised her gun above my head, "But nothing is stopping me from hitting you." She brought down the butt of her gun down on my head, making the whole world go black.

I was knocked out. It never feels good, no matter how many times it's done. I can't wake myself up. All I can do is hold on to my new information for as long as I can. Jim Moriarty. His name is Jim. Jim is the puppet master. Jim controls everything. Jim helps the criminals. Jim Moriarty. I cannot forget that name. I hope Sherlock was listening. I hope she heard us through the phone. Come on Sherlock. Follow the call. Come and get me. I have to keep repeating it. Jim Moriarty. His name is Jim. Jim is the puppet master. Jim controls everything. Jim helps the criminals. Jim Moriarty. His name is Jim. Jim is the puppet master. Jim controls everything. Jim helps the criminals. Jim Moriarty.

_**Thanks for reading! I am so happy that you are all reading it! I will keep posting :)**_


	21. Chapter 21

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

I opened my eyes and my vision was blurry. I heard a muffled song being sung. "_Come stranger, walk this path with me tonight. Take pleasure in the dark- come- take the air. Let my hand lead yours, your eyes hold back your fright. Remove all doubt, release your burdened care. Come, stranger, your buckling legs are too slow. Your face as wan as milk within a pail; we have a distance on this path to go, a journey you did promise without fail. Stanger, to sit and weep is misery- yours not mine, for this way I know too well. Take your heart; you've been unchained, set free, by the faint tolling of that distant bell. Stranger, your dream is done and now we leave; let others weep for you, let others grieve._" It's that damn poet again. I guess I should start calling her Maya now, given that she's got a name. Creepy little quirks she has, though. This is going to ruin poems for me, not that they weren't great to begin with. My kid will never dabble in poems. That's just odd. "Oh look who's awake! Isn't that quaint?" She exclaimed. As far as I could tell, we were in a building. It smelled of grease and oil. I looked around to try and get some clue to where I was, but it was too dark. I could only make out two figures. One, I was assuming was Maya; I didn't recognize the other figure.

The well-dressed man walked forward, closer to me. He bent down to me, "Comfortable? I tried to find the best chair I could for my best guest." He grinned.

"Where am I?" I asked, blinking a few times to get my brain working.

"You are at one of my favorite places for a getaway." He laughed.

"Who are you?" I continued.

"I'm Jim. Hi!" He said, holding out his last word.

"So, you're Moriarty?" I replied, connecting the dots. His dark, slicked back hair made him seem put-together despite his obvious insanity. His dark eyes pierced through mine as if he was reading me, or taunting me. His whole demeanor said human, but his shadow begged to differ.

He nodded. "And you're Doctor John Watson," He said, mimicking a soldier tone, "a former friend of Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective!"

"Former?" I asked.

"Yes well, you are my hostage." He cleared his voice, "Oops." He continued with a childish tone.

"What have you done with Sherlock?" I asked.

"Oh, Maya over there," he pointed, "left her a pretty little note."

"What note?" I inquired.

Maya stepped slowly started walking forward, "_Darkest days and darker nights. All fought in a fearless flight. To shame the name of one's foes, conceals a fate that no one knows. Live or die? That is the key, to take one step away from me. Dearest Sherlock, will you win? Or lose to the monster kept within? Spin her round and watch her go. Solve the case to go on home. Another riddle, another game; to put him in an endless shame. Watch the fire, watch it run. How long will it take to save John Watson?_"

"What does that mean?" I snapped.

"Oh I wouldn't want to spoil the fun." Jim taunted.

"Our story's just begun." Maya finished.

"Sherlock's on her way, and that's the important thing. So, I'm going to give you this." Moriarty smiled, handing me an earpiece. "It's a little cliché, but it gives me some class. I'm going to tell you what to say, and you will say it. If you don't-"

"I'll die?" I finished.

Moriarty closed his eyes and nodded his head, "Good. You're getting the idea. Now, sit tight. If you do anything I don't want you to do, I will kill you. If you say anything I don't want you to say, I will kill you. If you move in a way that I don't like, I will kill you. If you cry and I don't want you to, I will kill you. If you even breathe and I don't want you to, I will kill you. I am not one for surrender. I honestly couldn't care less if you're Sherlock's reason for living. I will kill you. Mind tricks won't work on me like they did on Maya over here. I simply don't care." He laughed, "Let me show you a nice demonstration." He turned to Maya, "You let John talk you into something. That's careless. I don't like careless Maya." He lifted his hands out to his sides and shrugged. Red dots appeared all over her.

Maya started to panic, "What? I brought him to you?! You can't do this?"

Moriarty balled his hands into fists. Maya fell to the ground with dozens of shots. He walked over to her, avoiding the blood spilling out from her body, "Rhyming isn't as fun when you're dying is it? Ah well. It was getting really bothersome."

My breaths became more frequent, "Jesus Christ…"

Moriarty turned back around, "Starting to get the picture? Everyone is expendable, even you. So be a good soldier and do what you're told."

"You're insane." I gasped.

Moriarty grinned, "No, psychopath is so much better."

"So I've met a sociopath, her jackass brother, and a psychopath all in a few days, great." I sighed.

"It's a Doctor's life for me!" Moriarty sang. "Come on Johnny boy, you know you love it. It's a life of excitement, chasing-"

"Horror." I interrupted.

"Mm, yes that too." Moriarty considered.

_**Ooh! Fun fun fun! Thank you for reading! Please review so I can see if my Moriarty is OOC. Thank you so much :) I will keep posting. Also, I am not going to post for the rest of the week because of grades and all :( but I will post 2 when I return!**_


	22. Chapter 22

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

"John?" I replied. "John, are you still there? Where have they gone? John?" I hung up the phone. I couldn't hear a thing. I suppose he had put his mobile back in his pocket. I was sitting down in the middle of a homeless hangout- somewhere underneath a bridge that is of little consequence and is completely irrelevant at the moment. The point is that John is in danger, and I've only got one of those. They're not so easy to replace.

As I sat, not smoking, by my informants, a man who definitely did not belong here approached me. "Are you Holmes?" He asked, practically grunting his way through his obvious weight problem, which will statistically lead to a fatal heart attack.

"Which one?" I asked. It pays to specific my fat fellow.

"I think it was a Sherlly, or a Sue. I don't remember. All I know is that it's for a Holmes." He thought.

I grabbed the note from him, "It's Sherlock, and by the way you're daughter does indeed smoke. I would check up on her now; also I would make an appointment with your cardiologist." I looked him up and down, "Soon."

He gave me a wide-eyed expression before turning to leave. I proceeded to open the letter.

~.~.~.~.~

"If I'm going to die, I get to know how." I declared. Moriarty won't talk on his own, but maybe if I push him I'll get some answers.

Jim grabbed a chair from across the room and pulled it in front of me and sat down, straddling it. He let out a small laugh, "Naah. I want it to be a surprise."

"Not going to indulge in some common decency?" I asked, taken aback by this murderer's response.

"And spoil the fun? I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, I would assume that Sherlock is on her way." Moriarty leaned.

~.~.~.~.~

My eyes closed as I read the last line. _'Think. How? Where? What are the clues? Think. Think.' _My mind began to search for answers urgently. _'Save John. Think Sherlock, think.' _

~.~.~.~.~

"What's your goal? Why do you need Sherlock here so badly?" I asked.

"Oh, come on Johnny Boy. She told you, didn't she?" He asked.

"Told me what?" I pushed.

Moriarty whistled in amazement. "How fun this will be." He laughed.

"What do you mean?"

~.~.~.~.~

"Dammit. Not again. I won't lose John again." I had to think. The note mentions fire right? So there must be a fire in the area. No, wait. Where was the other fire started? Obviously near the prison, so where is it? I took out my phone to search for fires near Pentonville. My screen lit up with numerous results. I need one near a body water. The plaster was a Marine Epoxy, so it must have been done near boats. That would have made the epoxy more easily accessible. I read through the search results and found that a duck boat had caught on fire in the Thames River. I searched the distance between Thames and Pentonville, only to find that it was a short distance away. They were approximately and hour away from each other. This has got to be it.

~.~.~.~.~

"I mean, that Sherlock's got a dirty little secret." Jim sang.

"What secret?" I bit that last word. Why would she keep secrets from me? Why, if she did, would it concern me?

"You don't recognize me do you?" He asked.

~.~.~.~.~

I couldn't hesitate. I must go there first for clues. I was only about 10 minutes away from Thames. I could make it there in 5 with some involuntary pedestrian help. I stood up and ran out towards the street. I looked across and saw an empty motorcycle. "Can't be that hard." I murmured to myself.

~.~.~.~.~

"No. I've never seen you before in my life." I replied, taken aback by the question.

"That's a shame. We've had some pretty great times." He shook his head jokingly.

"What in God's name are you talking about?" I yelled in frustration.

He laughed, his head shaking. "Johnny Boy, let's give Sherlly a little call shall we?" He pulled out my mobile from my pocket and started to dial.

~.~.~.~.~

I mounted the bike as my mobile rang. I answered it as I started to hotwire the vehicle. "Hello? John, are you okay?" I asked, hoping that John had somehow gotten free.

"Sherlock." A voice that was all too familiar answered.

"Who is this?" I asked, stopping my previous task.

"Did you miss me? Oh come on Sherlock. Did I really make such a fleeting impression?" He asked.

"Where's John?" I asked, not acknowledging his taunt.

"John's with me." He laughed, "He's kind of tied up at the moment."

"Can he hear me?" I asked.

"Well-"

"Can. He. Hear. Me?" I asked again, biting each word.

"Yes, the phone is on speaker now. You're really impatient Sherlly. It reminds me of times long ago. So impatient…" he tsked.

I grit my teeth at his taunting. "John, do not listen to a thing he says. He's just trying to get a rise out of you. Do not indulge him."

"Oh come on now. What is it you called me again? Was it a snake? A fox? Oh, no I remember, it was a spider. I am the spider and Johnny Boy is in my web. I think he owes me that much, to pay attention of course." He continued.

"What do you want?" I changed the subject.

"John here, was a little curious you see. He asked me what your big secret was." He paused, "And I thought it would be more fun if you told him."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I answered.

"Yes you do. Here, let me remind you. If you close your eyes and think real hard, you'll be able to figure it out. Mirror, mirror on the wall, whose death did they fake in the great big fall?" He laughed. "Oh come on. It'll come to you."

"Stop it." I commanded.

"Rock-a-bye Sherlock on the rooftop, when the wind blows the cradle will rock. When the bow breaks the cradle will fall, down comes Sherlock at Reichenbach." He sang.

"Stop it now!" I yelled.

"Oh fine then. Spoil the fun. You have about 5 to 10 minutes before Johnny Boy goes up in flames. See you then."

_**So sorry about the wait you guys. I had tests and things of the sort. The good news is that I have lots of content stocked up, so yay! Also please ignore that nasty Anon that is leaving reviews. Love you so much! Thanks for reading. I'm posting 2 today so don't skip them :)**_


	23. Chapter 23

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

"So that's how I'm going to die." I sighed. "I'm going to be set on bloody fire?!"

"Well, I had to keep with the theme. Sherlly has rather lost her edge." Moriarty shrugged playfully.

"You keep speaking in past tense. What the hell are you keeping from me?" I yelled. I demanded to know everything.

"Ask your heart." He grinned.

I bit my lip, "Is that supposed to be a joke? Are you joking with me?" I was pissed off now. This maniac was playing mind games, and let me tell you that they're not as fun as Sher's.

"Come now Doctor, this situation is no joking matter." Jim laughed.

"You know what? You're beginning to sound like a broken record." I bit back my tongue, forcing my thoughts to stay within my head.

"I take the game very seriously, especially when it comes to you two ordinary detectives. You have the ordinary consulting detective in one hand, and her equally ordinary blogger in the other. That's quite a laugh." He leaned back, acting as if he was making himself at home.

"How do you know about the blogging? You have never met me before." I shook my head in disbelief.

"From your therapist of course. How is your therapist anyways? What was her name? Ella? Yes that sounds about right. How is Ella?" He folded his arms and clenched his jaw. "How are her kids? Doing better? I heard the car accident was awful. I missed the husband by half an inch."

"Stop it." I commanded.

"Now look who's sounding like a broken record." He nodded towards me.

"Sherlock was right. You're just trying to get into my head. I won't let you." I kept my gaze with Moriarty; I had to show that I was serious.

"For a blogger, you would think that you would have come up with some more creative threats and fronts." He replied, returning my gaze.

"You're just stalling aren't you?" I asked.

"Very good John. If Sherlock reaches this destination before her minutes are up, then I will put off you're appending death until a later date. We've been rescheduling quite often, I wonder if we should just call it quits." He frowned.

"You're a luny, and we have only just met, not to my enjoyment I'll admit." I was getting more frustrated by the minute.

"JOHN!" I heard a voice call out.

Moriarty's grin spread wider, as he turned around. "Oh thank God." I sighed.

Footsteps rapped feverishly on the concrete, growing louder with each step. Moriarty turned his head back slightly and put his finger up to his lips.

He walked out of sight as a tall, curly haired woman rounded the corner. It was clearly Sher, and I was rather glad. She cleared the corners with her pistol as she ran up to me. "John, are you alright?" she asked, while attempting to untie the rope.

Words started filing into my earpiece, "Did you miss me?" I asked. I wasn't allowed to say anything, unless it was what Moriarty wanted me to say.

Sherlock cocked her head, "If you mean that I was concerned for your safety and rather you have been at my side, then yes."

"Not John, silly Sherlock." I said. "Did you miss me? Did you miss this? Does it bring back some memories?"

Sherlock took a step back and repositioned her pistol. "Where are you?" She shouted. "Come on out. Let's skip the formalities shall we?"

"Not quite yet. If you promise to tell our dear Doctor your secret, then I'll come out to play." I closed my eyes, "Otherwise, I would tell him goodbye."

Sherlock's face got angrier and darker. Her anger hardened as she scanned the room, "I suppose you have snipers for backup, and if I cut Dr. Watson's rope, then he will go up in flames. Am I correct?"

I blinked a few times before speaking, "Do you even have to ask that question?"

"Fine, I'll tell him." She said. "But in exchange, I require that you let John return to the safety of his home."

"Fine then." His voice rang out from the shadows as he stepped forward. "You can relax now Johnny Boy. Do you like it?" He asked Sherlock, spreading his arms out wide. "I thought I should class it up a bit. I sure do love a show."

Sherlock lowered her gun, "Where's Maya?" she asked. "No doubt she's around here somewhere."

"Ew, I um, disposed of her. She's over there actually, in the darker lit area." He pointed.

"So, all of those poems and riddles were for nothing? The deceased were-"

"Disposable." Jim said, interrupting Sherlock. "Stop the idle chatter Sherlly. John's waiting."

I looked at Sherlock as she began to speak, "John. I am not sure how to tell you this, but I suppose that I'll start by saying that you are not so put together. You have indeed met Jim Moriarty before, but I had no idea that he was still alive. I'll admit that it did indeed shock me when I found out."

"Sher, I swear that I have never met him. I don't usually associate myself with psychopaths." I urged.

Sherlock stared at me blankly before returning her gaze to Jim, "My heart?" she questioned.

"Clever huh? I thought I'd do you a favor this time around." Moriarty nodded towards me, "I told him the same thing. 'Ask your heart,' but he hasn't done so yet."

"What is he talking about Sherlock?" I asked.

Sherlock bowed her head, "John, you've forgotten him, but you certainly have met him."

"No I hav-"

"As you have forgotten me." Sherlock finished before I could.

"What? I… I haven't forgotten you. I remember who you are. You are Sherlock Holmes; the world's only consulting detective, and my recent flat mate. You are my best friend." I stumbled to convince them of the truth.

"John," Sherlock hesitated.

"What Sher?" I asked.

"You've forgotten quite a lot more than you know. It's hard to explain, but this is all about my heart, and I am extremely sorry for putting you in harm's way once again." Sherlock hesitated, "I truly am sorry."

Moriarty scoffed, "Oh how extremely ordinary you both are. 'Love is in the air.'" He mimicked. "It's unnecessarily sentiment."

"Shut the hell up." Sherlock snapped.

"Looks like after all these years you've gone soft." Jim laughed. "You're a little out of control; letting sentiment control you like that."

"What? I'm confused." I said, hoping Sherlock would shed some light on this.

Sher looked back at me with soft eyes, "Love is a dangerous asset John, and I believe that I have made it an unwelcome guest."

_**Thanks for reading, and don't forget that I posted Chapter 22 as well. Don't Skip It! Love you! I'll see you soon :)**_


	24. Chapter 24

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

"Sherlock, what the hell are you talking about?" I asked. My frustration made my eyes sore and my head throb.

Sherlock paused for a moment and looked down, "Back at the flat, I asked Sir Adler three questions."

"What were they?" I pressed on, calming myself.

"I asked what the poet, who we now know as Maya, was. Eren informed me that Maya was a statement. I continued by asking who she was associated with. He told me she was with a large organization, which by now we know of. My final question was about the poem. I asked why the poem was correlated with war." Sherlock looked up at me, halting her train of thought.

"And?" I pushed.

"It had to do with my heart." She blinked.

"I'm sorry, what? Explain this, I still don't understand." My throat felt like I was going to choke on sadness, but there wasn't a reason to. On some level, I suppose I should have understood, but I couldn't believe it. I kept my eyes open, fearing that if I continued to blink that I would let my emotions show. Sherlock and I are similar in that way. We don't show our emotions unless we're angry or just plain petty.

"John-"

"This is so awkward. You can practically burn through the tension." Moriarty whispered, interrupting Sherlock.

"I'm waiting, Sher." I whispered, matching Moriarty's volume unintentionally.

"John. It seems that you have acquired some minor amnesia." Sherlock answered, unbuttoning her coat and setting it aside, to reveal her black business-like ensemble.

I scoffed, "What?"

"Your dreams- they're not entirely factions of your imagination. Your dreams were pulled from actual events that you have forgotten." She turned to face me fully. "We've met before. All of us."

"That's- I can't- How? Tell me how." I stuttered in disbelief. How could I have amnesia? I don't remember being in a hospital after I returned from Afghanistan.

"That falling friend that you keep dreaming of, it's real. We met at Bart's, became flat mates, and solved crimes. Along the way, we met Lestrade, Anderson, Donovan, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Eren Adler, and- of course- Jim Moriarty. When we came in contact with Jim Moriarty, he tried to disgrace my name as a noble detective, and ultimately forced me to commit suicide. On the other side of the coin, Moriarty shot himself in the head, which only accelerated my fate. You watched… as I fell from the rooftop. I faked my death. This ultimately tore you apart, until one day, when I had received a letter." Sherlock began to clear her throat so she could continue to speak. "Apparently you couldn't take it anymore, and… you said that I didn't return and so you were coming to see me. The paramedics found you… with a bullet in your left chest cavity." She sniffed quietly, "You had survived, but with some consequences. You had apparently taken a large dosage of a substance before… the point is that you had endured so much trauma, that your mind had forgotten some of your past. I… had to tell your friends what had happened, and to- as Molly had put it- do over our experiences together. I wanted to make sure that you had somewhere to stay and that we had… a less fearful life together. I gave in to my sentiment, because the moment that I broke you, was the moment that you broke me. I informed our acquaintances to my plan; they were to act as if they had never met you before. Maya was a statement from Moriarty to me. Moriarty faked his death, as I did mine. This is about my pain John, and I am truly sorry for hiding this from you." Sherlock composed herself and kept her gaze with me. I noticed her deep sadness and tears that threatened to fall from her eyes.

I needed to know everything before I could move on. "What about the pain?" I asked.

Sherlock took a deep breath, "Wars usually have many things that intertwine with them. One of which being soldiers. One particular soldier was the key to winning the war and burning the heart out of me. My heart being the soldier, and well, you can figure out the rest."

I nodded for a moment, "Why?"

"You know why." I sighed, "If you want to read about our times together, I saved them. You wrote a blog back then as well, and I copied them all onto Mrs. Hudson's computer. Just tell her it's about project Lazarus."

I couldn't speak. I wasn't even angry; I was just sad and in disbelief. I finally, after moments of silence, gained the courage to speak up, "Right."

"I'm sorry John, really I am."

I stopped her from speaking again, "Don't. Just don't. Just stop it, stop this."

Sherlock turned to Moriarty, who had the largest grin on his face, "Let him go. I told him, now you will let him go. You can burn me all you want, but don't touch John." She lowered her volume, "He's been through enough."

Jim shrugged, "Of course. I am a man of my word." He motioned towards me, giving the ok to untie me.

Sherlock walked over and began to undo the knots. I got up from the chair and started to walk towards the exit, "John." Sherlock said, stopping me in my path. She walked forward with her coat and scarf, handing them out towards me, "Here, take this."

"Don't you need it?" I asked.

"I have lots of coats." She replied, as I took them from her.

I turned around and exited the building. I didn't bother to look where I was. I just kept walking. Sherlock will come and find me. She wouldn't leave me alone, not after all that. My heart wasn't safe anymore. It was in the hands of that detective. I guess one of us had to burn, but I didn't want it to be her. I won't say goodbye, because that would make it real. I won't say 'I love you,' because that makes it tragic. If there's something that we both do well, then it's surviving. If we haven't died yet, after all that the world has thrown at us, then the universe is trying to tell us something. A wise woman once said, "The universe is rarely so lazy," and even though I don't quite remember where it came from, I love it just the same. So, I'll wait for her, even if it means I wait forever.

_**Awe... I know it's a little short, but I thought it would be a good place to end off. I'll be posting more, but we may be nearing the end :( Thanks for reading! I love you all! **_


	25. Chapter 25

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

"See Sherlock, I always keep my word." Jim waked forward, strutting with his normal 'superior' walk.

"Yes, when you're not strapping someone with bombs or holding them hostage." I replied, folding my hands behind my back.

"Haha, agreed." He shrugged. "Well you obviously have questions, so get on with it." He walked towards another chair and pulled it towards the one John had occupied. He motioned to the chair opposite to him.

I sat down as I was commanded to. It seems to be proper etiquette. John taught me a few things. "Yes I do."

"What are they?" He asked.

"Being civil are we? That's really not your style is it?" I asked, leaning back into the chair.

"I have more class than a common criminal Sherlly." Jim leaned forward and laid his elbows just above his knees. "Come on, get out with it." He pressured.

"Explain this. If you really wanted to burn me you would have done so. Why are you stalling?" I cocked my head to the right.

Jim copied my movement, "Who says I'm not going to burn you? Like I said, I always keep my word."

"Right. I know that if you could, then you would. So, what are you waiting for? If you wanted to end our game then you could have easily done so. John would have been an advantageous asset, rather unwilling, but advantageous all the same. So why am I sitting here?" I leaned forward to match my opponent. This game of chess will end in my victory.

His spider web was unraveling. I was beginning to make my way to the answer. The answer that I need to save… "You're right Sherlock. You're not as ordinary as I thought, well…"

"Explain." I commanded.

"I need something from you Sherlly." Jim straightened himself up.

"And that is?" I asked, mimicking his every move.

"Oh, how very embarrassing this is for me. I need some… assistance." He laughed.

"Assistance? The Consulting Criminal needs assistance? Well I might have to check my schedule. I'm free on Sunday's most of the time when John doesn't drag me to church, but I might have to see if he'll approve of that considering these recent events." I replied.

"Sherlock, this is an important event. The only thing that you need to know is about the East Wind. I have an important task just for you Sherlly." He winked.

"No. I think that you should either turn yourself into the police for all time. I can phone Mycroft if that makes things easier." I said, pulling out my mobile. "Or you can stay dead this time."

He tsked, "Not so hasty. You don't really have a choice." He folded his hands and leaned back, "Either I actually burn your heart, or you do this job. One way or another I win. You can go ahead and quit that chess game you've been playing in your head."

"You want an answer now or should I get back to you?" I asked.

"How about now?" Jim leaned back with a wide grin.

Something was going to go wrong. I need to make a good decision, one that John would be proud of. Either way it has to be done or I have to make it out of here alive. I need to get back to John. It's my only option. I have to do this. It might hurt John but at least he will be alive. "Can I make a call first?"

"Of course." He laughed.

"Not going to screen my call? How do you know that you can trust me?" I asked.

"The same reason that I let your Pet leave. You won't risk his life for anything." Jim shook his head and turned away, "I'll give you some privacy."

I punched in my speed dial and waited for an answer. I actually wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't an answer; he's probably mad at me, which is understandable. The ringing stopped and a voice answered, "Yes?"

"I need some counseling." I sighed.

"Um, Sherlock? Why?" He asked.

"Eh, that's a rather idiotic question, but I can't say that I'm surprised." I remarked.

"Oh, what are you really calling me for Sherlock?" He sighed, ignoring my comments.

"I need help…" I was slow at admitting it, especially to him.

"I'm actually busy Sherlock. Donovan is trying to get me to investigate East London, but-"

"Lestrade I honestly couldn't care less." I interrupted. "However, I need to know if betraying someone's trust can ultimately hurt their relationship in the long run, so to speak."

"Is this about John?" Lestrade asked, obviously catching on.

"Uh." I sighed.

"Because if it is, then I think that he'll understand. John's a good guy, and he trusts you. I've seen it time and time again. When you first came to me to talk about your relationship, even though I couldn't really care, I could tell that he meant a lot to you. I also know that you don't let that show, so maybe you should tell him. And why not further extend that to your situation. I may not be a brilliant man, but I know about this." Lestrade finished.

"You're implying that I should tell him about betraying his trust?" I asked.

"Um, yes…. Yes. That's the right move." Lestrade answered.

"And how's your wife?" I asked.

"She's actually my ex-wife now." He cleared his throat.

"Oh, right. So yes then, you definitely know about relationships." I replied, proving my point, which I wasn't quite sure why I was making it.

"Listen Sherlock, I know about this ok. Sentiment is an advantage. Believe it or not." Lestrade hung up on that note.

I placed my mobile back into my pocket, turning back around to face Moriarty. This game wasn't over. I wasn't going to lose. I have to make a decision, but I get to arrange the choices.

Moriarty stood from his chair and spread his arms out wide, "So, what'll it be?" he asked.

I looked up with my grin growing wider by the second, "You can live with your mind, but I pray you not act by it."

_**Thanks for being so patient! I've had this huge Chemistry project to do! Anyways, love you all! Thanks for reading! There may be one or two more chapters left :) so sad that it's coming to an end though...**_


	26. Chapter 26

_**I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh**_

I stood a few miles away from the building that I had recently escaped from; I picked up Sherlock coat and scarf off the ground and put them on. I wanted to be able to see the building just in case something had happened. I stared at the sky just above it, wrapping my arms around my body, taking in the warmth of Sherlock's things. How could I have lost so much? I knew that I had a strong reaction to Sher, but I had no idea why. Sherlock had always kept me in the dark, but this was a step too far. Honestly though, I don't know which is worse: seeing Sherlock fall or not remembering her at all. These few short days that I could remember about her were so pleasant. I had to admit that I had had the time of my life, and now it was being ripped away from me, as if I had wronged someone. I wasn't really that angry; I was just… empty. I felt like I had slept for years, but it had only felt like seconds. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to make it from here, but Sherlock and I will figure it out. Maybe I could take Sherlock to visit my sister. Maybe Sherlock would enjoy it. I looked at the clouds, day dreaming about what would happen in my future, our future. The sky turned dark and gray. At first it felt like my imagination, but I was wrong. I was so wrong… The gray sky wasn't the sky at all! It was smoke. Someone is burning… I ran towards the building screaming, "Sherlock!" She had to be alive. She was supposed to come back to me right? That's how fairytales are supposed to end. The flames from the building grew higher and higher. She isn't caught up in this right? This can't be… She's fine. She's alive. She's always alive… "Sherlock!" I continued to scream her name until I reached the building, or what was left of it anyways. My legs gave out, and I dropped to the ground. Smoke curled out all around the embers. The building was only burning cinders now, and not a thing was left. I ran my hand over the warm ash. "Sherlock…" I whispered. Somehow I thought this wouldn't be as hard as it is, but I was wrong. I took out my mobile; I wanted to call a cab or Mrs. Hudson. She does deserve to know, even if it's the second time that this has happened. I flipped it open, watching the bright light lite up my screen. My stomach and throat got tight and this time I actually thought I was going to die. A message reminder showed up on my screen. "What is it now?" I sighed, suppressing my sorrow as a good soldier would. I opened the message:

_I chose you- SH_

I immediately dropped the phone, clasping my hands over my mouth. The tears that I had tried to stop fell from my eyes fiercely, not showing any signs of stopping. My hands dropped, and I hunched over clutching them until my hands turned white.

By the time the firefighters arrived, I was in a pile. I wasn't quite sure what was happening. Someone had set my in an ambulance, placing a blanket over my shoulders. I didn't bother to move it. I didn't do anything. It felt like my heart had been ripped from my body. She was gone… She was actually gone. I had the chance to do it over with Sher and I failed. My memory failed me, and so did my heart. Damn…

Mrs. Hudson walked over to me in her familiar purple ensemble that just reminded me of Sherlock. I remembered sitting in Buckingham Palace, and Sherlock telling me how horrid our landlady's wardrobe was. It almost made me laugh. Almost… "John?" She asked quietly. "I've come to take you back to the flat. Are you ready to go?" Apparently when someone dies, you have to treat the attachment like they're the puppy dog, being strung along only to be sold. I got up, grabbing the pole from inside the vehicle to help me walk. My leg was killing me…

When I reached the door of the flat, I let Mrs. Hudson walk ahead of me to unlock the door; otherwise I would have just sat outside of it. I didn't want to walk inside. It was just going to torture me. I thought as a soldier, that I would be resistant to torture, but obviously I had given in once. Why couldn't I do it a second time? The firefighters had told me what was found in the ashes. "_Fragment of flesh had been found. We'll take it to Bart's to make sure. Do you have anything that could help us cross match your friend's DNA?_" I hadn't given them anything. I held on to her coat and scarf. Funnily enough, the coat fit. That would be a laugh wouldn't it Sher? You told me it wouldn't fit and look at me now.

I walked up the stairs and opened our door. As I walked in, the room filled with the scent of smoke and embers. I guess I should wash myself up. Maybe I'll do it later. I moved over to my chair and sat down. I hadn't even bothered to turn on the lights. I rested my chin on my fist, using the other hand to grip the arm of the chair. I felt something underneath the arm. It felt smooth and thin. I moved and tore it away from the fabric. As I held it to my eyes, I saw the faint logo of Sherlock's cigarettes. "Trying to quit my ass. Lying bastard…" I mumbled.

"Well to be honest I had never really lied about that." A voice said, coming from directly in front of me. The figure turned on the lamp light, "You smell like smoke."

I looked at the dark and soot covered business-like clothes. "Damn you." I sighed, throwing the pack of cigarettes at her.

"John-" Sherlock started.

"Is this what you do? You risk your life to prove you're clever?" I shouted, standing up from my chair.

Sherlock stood up, matching my stance. Her face was blotted with ash, and her curly brown hair had turned dark, "Why would I do that?" she asked, putting a hand on my cheek.

I looked into her eyes and sighed, "Because you're an idiot." I couldn't stay angry at Sherlock. This was typical of her.

She laughed. This type of emotion wasn't normal for her, but when you're with Sherlock, it's best to just roll with it. I closed the gap between us. I won't say "I love you," because that would make it real. I won't say "I'm hurt," because that would be tragic. In time, I will trust Sherlock to tell me the truth. But for now I'm good with being in the dark, as long as Sherlock's here with me.

_**Awe... It's over! As my first FanFic, it's not bad. Please tell me what you thought of it! I appreciate all of you and I love all of my faithful readers! I shall see you again, no worries! I'll probably write more :) Thanks so much! 3**_


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